Bereft
by Allimelon
Summary: Not actually a Hustle story, but for anyone who enjoys the work of Robert Glenister, this fic continues the story of his character Terry Reid from the TV series "A Touch of Frost" and our earlier fic, "Heat".
1. Chapter 1

**Before**

When he looked back on things, Terry Reid was never quite sure how he had arrived at the place he was in, both actually and metaphorically speaking. Benefiting from any case he had worked on, however indirectly, had always seemed abhorrent to him. Relief had managed to overcome disappointment very easily when he had avoided promotion in the past. But since his elevation to the rank of detective inspector had been mainly due to the role he had played in apprehending a particularly disgusting paedophile, the thought that his so-called success was somehow tainted by association occasionally flitted through his thoughts.

However, detective inspector he was, and it would have been career suicide to have turned it down – well, that was what Jack Frost had told him, and in his typical manner had made it plain that if Reid _did _refuse the promotion, there would be a serious falling-out between the two of them. At least on Frost's part.

Staying on at Edmund Street was a plus, though; a transfer as well as a promoted post would have been much more difficult for him to handle, change being the nemesis it was to him. Reid had settled in well after his move there from Northcote, and although he kept in touch with some of the old faces – Gryff Coleman and Sheila Boydeau, to be precise – that particular change hadn't turned out to be the traumatic life event it might once have been. The elastic band on his wrist was gone, the twenty-Rothmans-a-day habit was going, and he saw his kids every other weekend. That was his life. Until Eric Hayden, that is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

"Whatever it is, can't it wait? There is a bit of a rush on," Reid barked over his shoulder as he, and a dozen other officers, made for their cars.

"I take it that's a rhetorical question, then," muttered the uniformed sergeant who was minding the station. The sight of most of the relief disappearing off into the evening was adding insult to injury for her, and she returned to her post at the reception area just in time to answer the phone.

"Edmund Street front desk, Sergeant Allan speaking. How can I help you?" A few seconds later she hung up in an even worse mood, wishing she had a fiver for every silent call she'd taken in the last month. Bloody time-wasters. She sighed and sat down to the folder of outstanding traffic accident reports that she'd been working her way through during the graveyard shift. Might as well get it done while things were quiet.

That was how DC Billy Duke found her when he walked through the front doors, having just come from Denton General Hospital, where he'd been babysitting a GBH victim. At first sight he really did think the sarge had nodded off at the desk, but the horror of it dawned on him as he noticed the patch of blood soaking through the papers her head rested on. Gingerly, he touched her on the neck to feel for a pulse; there was none. For a moment or two he couldn't move or speak. Then he realised that any time now someone, a member of the public, could appear, and he had to do something. He called 999 for an ambulance and then hit the panic button at Lindsay Allan's side.

Reid had detected a shockwave of something amongst the troops as they loaded the young thugs into the vans outside Kristal's nightclub, but hadn't had the time or the attention for it until they were on their way back to the nick. Above the yelling, singing, and thumping of the van that came from behind him, he shouted over to Con Sullivan, who was driving.

"You're a bit quiet tonight. Anything up?"

"Haven't you heard, sir? Someone at the station's been found dead, only they won't say who over the radio."

"What, some scrote in the cells?" Reid took the hint from Sullivan's glare and put his cigarette away again, unlit.

"Dunno, guv. It didn't sound like that."

"'Sound like' it? Who was telling?" Aggrieved at both the lack of information and a smoke, Reid wasn't in a forgiving mood.

"I only heard third-hand, sir, don't blame me," retorted Sullivan as he swung the van through the station gates and pulled up at the back door. Officers from the car behind them had already begun unloading the prisoners by the time Reid got to the rear of the van. He looked across to the entrance to the custody area and was quite taken aback to see Superintendent Gardiner, the station commander, standing there. He didn't appear to be with anyone, rather waiting for something or somebody. Suddenly he spotted Reid in the throng of the yard and came towards him.

"I need to speak to you immediately," said Gardiner quietly, and the unaccustomed urgency in his tone had Reid extremely worried now. The two walked briskly into the station and as they headed up the stairs to the super's office, Reid spotted at least two WPCs in tears and more than one ashen-faced CID officer.

Gardiner invited Reid into the room and quietly closed the door.

"I take it it's not good news, sir," Reid stated baldly.

"I'm afraid not, Terry. Have a seat." The superintendent indicated a chair for Reid, then moved to a bookcase from which he removed a bottle of whisky and two glasses. "It's Lindsay Allan. DC Duke returned from Denton General to find her dead at the front desk. Looks like she's been shot - once, in the head." He handed a glass to Reid and took a drink from his own. All that could be heard in the room was the ticking of a wall clock.

When Reid spoke at last he could barely find the words. "That's...unbelievable. Horrific. What the hell...?" Finally he knocked back his scotch in one go and sat cradling the glass in his hands, trying to assimilate the disbelief and shock that had numbed him.

"Of course I've got uniform checking the station CCTV as we speak, outside and in. I'm expecting a result from that any time now; it sounds gruesome, but I'm afraid she was still warm when Duke found her, so we have a fair idea of the time of death. It's given us a starting point."

An urgent-sounding rap on the super's door made Reid jump, and Gardiner called, "Come in, please."

A ruddy-faced constable entered the room. "The CCTV footage you asked for, sir," he announced, handing over a computer disc.

"Thank you, Durkin." The youngster left before any social niceties were required. Reid joined Gardiner as the disc loaded on the computer. At that moment, another knock at the door only briefly preceded the entry of a young, fair-haired man, who addressed the superintendent, "Sorry, sir, I meant to bring that disc to you personally so I could go through the footage with you."

"That's all right, Ferguson, I'm sure we'll manage," rejoined Reid drily, avoiding his junior officer's eye. Nonetheless, the newcomer positioned himself between DI and superintendent and began pointing out the thumbnails that represented each section of CCTV. "This first bit," he explained, "starts about fifteen minutes after the team left for the raid on Kristal's. Notice the dark-coloured hatchback arriving up the street from the station entrance." All three fixed their gaze on the vehicle Ferguson had highlighted, and watched as an unmistakably male figure got out of the driver's seat, pulled a hood down over his face, and approached the station doors.

"Unfortunately the number plate seems to have been treated with Photoblocker spray, so that's a dead end," Ferguson reported glumly. "The next section cuts to the interior shot of the front desk where we can see the assailant entering the premises."

"Oh, come on, you're not giving evidence in court!" exclaimed Reid testily, before he could stop himself. Gardiner raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing, motioning only for Ferguson to continue with his commentary.

"Unfortunately, while the shooting was very clearly caught on camera, the gunman was well-prepared to avoid being identified." The three men watched, mesmerised, as the fatal bullet was fired and Lindsay Allan slumped silently forward onto her paperwork. Throughout the few seconds it took, the man on the film was careful to keep his face turned away from the station CCTV camera.

"Well, it's obvious she didn't initially feel threatened by the shooter, or he wouldn't have got that close to her – she'd have hit the panic button," observed Reid.

"Agreed," said Gardiner. "He must have presented himself as an ordinary visitor to the station, and she would have had no reason to think otherwise."

"Until he produced the gun, by which time it would have been too late," added Ferguson.

"Or possibly he used it from inside a bag or under a newspaper," Reid suggested. The other two nodded at this theory. "Not that it matters," he continued. "It's unlikely to have made any difference to the ballistic evidence in the end."

Yet another visitor to Gardiner's office announced his arrival with a knock, and when it proved to be Billy Duke, the superintendent said, "That'll be all for now, DS Ferguson. Thank you." As Reid made a move to leave too, Gardiner stopped him. Somewhat crestfallen, Ferguson retreated outside with reluctance, and the door was closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

Craig Gardiner was a very different superintendent from the ones Reid had run into thus far in his career. Far from being a remote, detached figure in the organisation, out of touch with the officers on the ground, he knew every single one of them by first name, as well as their families and career histories, off by heart. And not because he'd memorised their personnel files, either; he was genuinely interested in the people he viewed as being the life-blood of the service, and cared what happened to them.

So he was under no illusions as to what went on under his station roof. He knew only too well about Reid's previous drug and alcohol problems, his family situation, and how Jack Frost had been the making of him. Not that he had any time for mavericks like Frost; they were vastly over-rated, as far as Gardiner was concerned. But Reid was different. He said what he thought, didn't have any grandiose ideas about his abilities, and was an effective and useful man to have on the team. Which was partly why he'd asked Reid to stay and hear what Billy Duke had to say, the other reason being that he had for some time been aware of canteen gossip regarding Duke's private life.

"Please sit down, Billy. Have you seen the M.O.?"

"Yes, sir," was the response. "He reckons I should knock off early, but..."

"Well, we can talk about that, but first of all I'd like you to go over what you saw when you came into the station and found Sergeant Allan, if you can."

Duke swallowed hard. "Well, I got back from the hospital just before twenty to one, came in at the front desk..."

"Why the front rather than in at the yard?" Painful for Duke though it might be, Gardiner needed all the facts to be out in the open. Duke said nothing, and seemed to stare at a point somewhere over the superintendent's shoulder.

"Come on, Earl," prompted Reid softly. No-one in CID ever called Duke by his first name; ever since he'd started as a beat copper his nickname had been "Earl," as in "Duke of".

The younger man hurriedly drew a hand over his eyes to remove any trace of tears and answered stoically, "I wanted to see the sarge."

Gardiner was as gentle as he could be. "I understand you and Sergeant Allan were, let's say, very close colleagues. That's not what we're discussing at the moment, although we may have to come back to it. Tell me what you saw, constable."

Reid was impressed with Gardiner's ability to be professional yet sensitive in such a difficult situation as Duke continued, "Well, I saw she was lying down...and...and I thought, 'She's dozed off'. Then I reckoned she must have fainted, so I went over..." Duke took a few seconds to compose himself at the memory. "And I felt for a pulse, but..." He couldn't go on, and bit his knuckle as the tears welled up again.

"Think back to before you came into the station," coaxed Gardiner. "Did you see any cars parked outside, or anyone hanging about?"

Mute again, Duke shook his head, then asked with sudden recollection, "Do you have the CCTV footage, sir? That might help me remember something."

Gardiner hesitated. It was traumatic enough to find someone you cared about lying dead in their own blood, but to have to watch the actual murder playing out on film before your eyes was on an entirely different level of suffering.

Reid saved them both. "We'll get some stills printed off, Earl, and you can check them out when you've had a bit more time to think, OK? The camera doesn't show everything, and sometimes witnesses can have seen more than they realise at first."

A look of relief passed briefly over Gardiner's face. "That's an excellent idea, Inspector Reid. Will you organise that, please? I'd like to speak privately with DC Duke before he goes." He removed the disk from his computer and passed it to Reid, who left at once. As he closed the door behind him, he could see the super moving round the desk to sit beside Duke for a one-to-one conversation.

"So the gossip about Lindsay Allan and Earl was actually true?" Reid leaned against the wall of the print room as he quizzed the station clerical officer.

Sharlene Carrick snorted as she ran off copies of the screenshots Reid had requested. "Are you always the last person in this nick to know things?" she asked sarcastically.

"Pfft," puffed Reid, with a grin. "I'm usually the last man on the _planet_ to find out who's knocking off who. I take it they'd been an item for a while, then?"

"And you're obviously keen not to speak ill of the dead," fired back Sharlene. "Lindsay's only in the mortuary five minutes and you're trying to get me to dish the dirt."

"Every little helps," Reid remarked casually.

"Fair enough, Tesco." Sharlene sat back in her chair as the last of the photos churned out. "Well, I did first start hearing whispers last summer...just before Earl and Lindsay both 'coincidentally' went on annual leave at the same time. That was what set the tongues wagging to begin with, I think, although I ignored it for a bit, I thought it was just speculation."

She paused to consider, and Reid sat down at a vacant workstation to listen more comfortably.

"Then we had Julie Hazelwood's hen night," Sharlene went on, "and every woman Jack of us from the station was at that. So when Lindsay got off her face on tequila slammers and started on about her new fella, it was just a matter of time, it didn't take much to get her to spill her guts. Not that I tried," she protested as Reid looked disapproving, "but Amy Russell's a nosy cow, and she bought her drinks until she got Earl's name out of her. Poor Lindsay." Sharlene looked dolefully down at the floor.

"Never mind," opined Reid, resignedly matter-of-fact. "I'll take those printouts now, if they're ready." He stood up.

"Oh, yeah, right. Here y'go." Sharlene slotted the photographs into a file folder and gave it to Reid.

"Thanks for that. See you later." Reid flipped through the shocking stills as he walked towards his own office, with the result that he zig-zagged down the corridor and collided with the man coming the opposite way.

"Sorry, mate!" exclaimed Reid, staggering to one side as he attempted to correct his course, while Kuldeep Shah grabbed Reid's shoulders in a bid to steady him.

"You been out on the piss already?" laughed the uniformed officer.

"Talk about gallows humour - this place beats every other office I've worked in," replied Reid. "Are you in charge of the wake and the collection?"

"I'm leaving all that to the troops, Tel. It helps them feel like they're doing something."

"Meanwhile, you'll have to go round to Lindsay Allan's family and break the news...," observed Reid, as they continued to his office together. He kicked his door open and set the pile of papers down on his desk, motioning for Shah to take a seat. "Mint?" he offered, extending a box to his surprised colleague. The king-size monogrammed carton of hand-made sweets had been a recent gift from Sheila.

"Blimey, most guys have booze or at least coffee – are you trying to kick the smoking?" All the same, Shah helped himself to a handful.

"Trying, yes," replied Reid. "Since the entire station grounds became a no-smoking area, I can't even nip round the delivery entrance for a puff. Might as well give in."

"Seriously? Have you actually quit?" asked Shah in amazement.

"Almost 24 hours now," Reid said, consulting his watch. He didn't mention his near-lapse in the van earlier.

"I'm impressed, Terry. So," he said, changing tack, "what do you know about Lindsay Allan?"

"What, about her personally, or about tonight in particular? Or, I should say, this morning," Reid corrected himself, rubbing his face with both hands. "I swear I can hear the dawn chorus. Well, I just found out that the station scuttlebutt about her and Earl was true after all, and here was me thinking it was just idle chit-chat."

"I did hear something to that effect myself a while back, and to be honest I had noticed them cosying up to each other once or twice in odd spots around the station, but seeing as they were two consenting adults..." Shah broke off as the phone on Reid's desk shrilled out.

"Reid here...right, Penny, I'll take him home...yes, Inspector Shah's with me just now...I'll tell him. Thanks, Pen." Hanging up, Reid swivelled round to look out at the creeping first light. "I need to drive Earl home, make sure he gets there in one piece," he explained. "That's going to be fun. Not." He briefly slumped his chin on his chest in exaggerated despair. "Oh, and Penny Taylor says she'll go with you to Lindsay Allan's partner to tell him, if you want."

"She's a star. She and Lindsay were pretty close, too, so it'll probably be harder for her than anyone else on the relief." Shah ran a hand over his stubble. "I'd better freshen up before I visit anyone," he mused. "Thanks for the mints, Tel. See you later."

"Later, Deep. I'll hear how you get on."

"Likewise, I'm sure." Shah slipped out, leaving Reid alone with his thoughts and an ever-increasing nicotine craving.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

"Come on, son, let's get you home to the bosom of your family." Reid tried, and failed, to sound more upbeat than he felt. Billy Duke rose unsteadily to his feet, and Reid noticed that the man's hand was trembling as he ran it through his hair.

"Thanks for the coffee, Pen," said Duke to the custody sergeant as they made their way out.

"No problem, pet, you just watch yourself now, and give them lovely kids of yours a big hug from me, all right?" she replied warmly, and cast Reid a sympathetic look.

Duke raised a hand in a parting salute, and shuffled through the doorway into the corridor leading to the car parking area, Reid in tow. They made the twenty-minute journey to Earl's home in silence, mainly because Reid didn't know what to say to the poor sod. Of course, Valerie Duke would be supportive because her husband had found a fellow officer shot in the line of duty, but did she know about or suspect Earl's relationship with Lindsay? If she didn't, perhaps there was a real risk that his grief would betray his infidelity. There was also a strong possibility that the police investigation into Sergeant Allan's death would bring the affair out into the open. Reid didn't envy Duke one little bit, but he didn't have much sympathy for him, either. The man had been unwise enough to play away from home and now it was coming back to bite him in a fairly spectacular way.

"Right, Earl, here you are," Reid announced somewhat unnecessarily as he parked in front of the Dukes' house. He started to get out of the car but Earl laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"It's OK, guv, I'll manage myself. You don't have to come with me." The misery in Duke's eyes stung Reid's conscience.

"Don't be daft. Come on." Reid walked round to the passenger door and opened it for Earl when it looked as if he would just sit there, putting off the hard thing. "In you go."

They walked side by side up the garden path, and after a bit of fumbling with the key in the lock, Earl managed to get the door open. The noise had obviously disturbed Valerie, because she was halfway down the stairs in her dressing gown when the two men entered the hall.

"Billy!" she cried, her tone a mixture of alarm and relief at his dawn return from work, as well as his dishevelled appearance. She looked enquiringly at Reid, who shepherded the couple into the living room, mainly to avoid disturbing the sleeping children upstairs.

"Billy's had a bit of shock tonight...last night – well, we all have," explained Reid. "He'll tell you about it himself later, but the long story short is that he came back to the station and found one of our sergeants dead. I can't say much more than that because it's not public knowledge yet, but he wasn't in any fit state to finish the shift after he'd given his witness statement, so..."

"_Dead?_" echoed Valerie, horrified. "Who?"

"Lindsay Allan. Did you know her?" Reid's poker face came in handy.

"I...I remember Billy mentioning her sometimes, but I don't think I ever met her...or if I did, at a Christmas party or something, I don't really know..."

Reid, with a strong twinge of self-reproach, realised that he was instinctively treating Valerie as a potential suspect, observing every little nuance of the woman's face, her gestures, the words she chose, to try and discover if she'd known – but there was nothing there to indicate that she'd been aware of Earl's adulterous liaison. Either that, or she was a very good liar indeed.

"What happened? Oh, sorry, you said you can't tell me..." Valerie sat close to Earl, holding his left hand in her two, solicitously looking at him every now and then.

"All I can really say is that it wasn't natural causes, I'm afraid," Reid said. "And Billy'll need to come in to the station later today to review some evidence, but there's no rush. If he can get some sleep, I think that would be the best thing right now. He's absolutely shattered, as you can see."

Reid suddenly realised that neither of them were any longer aware of his presence, and he felt he was an intruder on a very intimate moment as Valerie Duke gently stroked her husband's cheek, like a mother consoling an upset child. He quietly let himself out and drove back to the station.

It was mid-morning before Reid managed to return home himself, have a shower, a shave, and forty winks, then get back to Edmund Street for a sit-down with Shah and Gardiner. The superintendent had thoughtfully arranged for a working lunch to be served in his office, and Reid was pleasantly surprised at just how much he enjoyed it. He realised with a sense of satisfaction that after only one day of quitting, his taste buds had begun to revive. It wasn't until his sixth sandwich that he was aware of his two fellow officers staring at him, and the ham and tomato bap halted in mid-air.

"Something the matter?" he mumbled round his mouthful.

"I was just wondering if the lunch was to your liking." An amused smile played around the super's mouth, and he and Shah exchanged knowing grins.

"Very much, thanks," Reid replied, calmly tucking in again and not rising to the bait.

"More coffee?" Gardiner offered, jug in hand.

"Please." Reid extended his cup for a refill.

"Lost your appetite and found a horse's, eh?" enquired Shah, with a chuckle.

Reid made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whinny, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"Better leave room for dessert, Terry, I've asked Gwen in the canteen to make us her excellent plum upside-down cake. And custard," added Gardiner, with a twinkle.

"I can't wait, sir. How did you get on at the Allan house, Deep?" enquired Reid.

"No better than you'd think, I don't suppose," was the response. Shah reflected on the experience and continued, "Andy couldn't really take it in, poor bugger. I called his mother and told her, and she came right over. They'd been together longer than I realised, him and Lindsay. Turned out they met when they were cadets, only Andy decided after a year to jack it in and go back to being an electrician. More money in it, that's for sure."

"Did you get any feel for whether he knew about Lindsay and Billy Duke?" asked Gardiner cautiously. Like Reid and Shah he was already mentally lining up possible suspects.

A shake of the head indicated Shah had seen nothing. "That doesn't mean he didn't know; as I said, he wasn't really functioning at all after Penny broke the news. He realised as soon as he opened the door and saw her, and my uniform, that something was badly wrong. How did it go with Earl?"

"Much the same, really," Reid answered. "He was in shock, Val was worried about him...I told her he'd be needed here again later today, sir," he said to Gardiner. "And I watched her reaction when I mentioned Lindsay Allan's name. Not a flicker."

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Officers getting shot on the job doesn't happen every day, and when it does, 90 per cent of the time it's by known criminals, not their nearest and dearest. Come in!" Gardiner finished in response to the knock at his door. "Ah, Gwen, thank you very much," he enthused, jumping up and holding the door open for the cook as she wheeled in the remainder of their meal.

"Now, I've brought you another pot of coffee, some mineral water, and cheese and biscuits, as well as the pudding," she recited.

"God knew what he was doing when he sent you to us, Mrs. S.," declared Reid in appreciation of the trolley and its cargo. He was rewarded with a proud smile and a spring in Gwen Stewart's step as she left the room.

Gardiner resumed their discussion as he helped himself to dessert. "We're really at the mercy of the pathologist and the forensic team. Once we have their reports plus their detailed analysis of the CCTV, hopefully we'll start to move forward more quickly. At the moment we've no reason to believe the shooting was anything other than random. Meantime, Deep, can you look at the recent cases and convictions that Lindsay was involved in, make sure there's no-one connected with them that might have wanted to harm her?" He paused to take another spoonful of cake.

"I'll do the same with DC Duke, just in case," volunteered Reid.

"Thanks, Terry. Help yourselves to more, you two, I daren't send back any leftovers or there'll be trouble."

Shah and Reid got stuck into the plum pudding and custard without any further arm-twisting, but Reid regretted it about an hour later as he was ploughing through Billy Duke's case files and found himself almost asleep.

"Time for some coffee and a...damn!" Reid's absent-minded search for his lighter ended with the abrupt recollection of his smokeless status. He told himself sternly that it was a good thing, he wouldn't have appreciated the super's lunch half as much if he'd still been smoking – nor, of course, would he have eaten a fraction of what he had. He gazed down at his waistline, which wasn't all that sylph-like to begin with, and began to consider what he would need to do to prevent the weight from piling on, which is undoubtedly what would happen if he didn't take steps. Maybe he should take out that gym membership he'd been thinking about, or rather, which Sheila had nagged him about the last time she'd run a minor campaign to try and get him to quit.

Reid knocked off before three in the afternoon, having done practically an all-nighter, and then some. On his way home, he stopped off first at the health club to find out about their fees, and then at Tesco's for some low-calorie, low-fat, no-taste microwave meals. He nobly by-passed the crisps and chocolate aisles, and opted instead for a few different types of fruit. He was trying to decide whether to get peaches or nectarines when he realised someone was standing behind him and to his left. Looking cagily round, he came face to face with a worn out-looking Valerie Duke.

"Val! Are you OK?" Reid scanned the shop floor, and asked, "Where's Billy, is he with you?"

"No, he's gone back in to work, I dropped him off on my way here. Had to get some shopping done before the kids get home from school," she explained, gesturing at her half-full trolley. "I wanted to ask you..."

_Here it comes,_ thought Terry with a knot in his stomach, _she's going to try and find out about Lindsay._

"...about the sergeant that died. Will there be a collection for her? Only Billy's not really got his head round things yet, and I wanted to set aside..."

"Just a couple of quid'll be fine, Val," said Reid reassuringly, a wave of relief sweeping through him. "That's all that's expected from colleagues. It's the brass that have to cough up the most," he added, trying to lighten up the conversation.

"That's great. I just wondered...was she well-liked, Sergeant Allan? I tried and tried to remember what Billy had said about her, but I don't think it was ever anything specific – not that I can remember, anyway. And Billy just can't talk about it. All I know is what you've told me." The unasked question in her eyes was "How did it happen?"

"Well, it'll come out eventually, but it would really be better if you didn't mention it to anyone else," replied Reid. "She was shot at the front desk, and Billy was the one who came in and found her. It must have been a terrible experience for him."

"Oh, good God!" Valerie's hand covered her mouth at the ghastliness of the idea. "Poor Billy. It never occurred to me it could have been a...a shooting." Something seemed to strike her. "The security at the station can't be all that great."

"We really don't know yet what happened, Val. Listen, I have to go, but I'll make sure Billy's OK tomorrow at work, if he's up to coming in. The super might suggest he takes some personal leave, and he'll be referred to the police counselling service as well. You make sure he goes to that – you can go too, if you need to. You're entitled." Reid patted the woman lightly on the arm in a gesture of comfort, and walked towards the checkouts.

It was only when he was loading the shopping into the boot of his car that he realised he'd picked up neither peaches nor nectarines. There was no way he was going back in for them, and run the risk of being chinned a second time. He would simply have to make do with what he had. But the innocent nature of Valerie's questions meant that his feelings of gratitude and reprieve persisted as he drove home. Crisis averted, the cloud of scandal that had been lingering drifted away, for the time being.

All Reid wanted to do by the time he got back to Bracken Hill was lie down on the sofa and stare at the telly while his tea cooked, but he had a couple of other obligations to see to first. Charlie, the big ginger-and-white tomcat who'd adopted Reid on his return to Denton, was sitting on the front doorstep looking as though he might go and grass Reid up to the RSPCA if he didn't get some food _immediately_.

It was whilst Reid was hopping round the kitchen with a tin of cat-food trying to avoid falling over the insistent animal that he noticed the flashing light on his answering machine and realised with a stab of conscience that he hadn't rung his ex in London to make arrangements for the weekend. Worse, he was now going to have to ring her, late, and tell her that he was likely to be tied up at the station and unable to come down.

In the event, the news was received with relative calm, although this was largely because Louise was out at her mother's with Katie and it was her husband Paul and fifteen-year-old Danny who Reid actually spoke to.

Paul, with his customary common-sense, simply said: "Course you can't come down, mate, not with that to sort out. I'll talk to Lou and Katie for you."

When Danny came on the line Reid debated whether to tell him the whole story, but reckoned to himself that it was better for his son to know the truth of what he did, rather than him having a sanitised version and resenting Reid for not being available.

Danny listened whist Reid explained, then said, bluntly: "Bastard!"

"Oi!" Reid reprimanded automatically.

"Oh, come on, Dad! Shooting an unarmed woman through the head? If that's not being a bastard I don't know what is!"

"That's as may be, but I don't want you using that language where Katie might hear you."

"She'd have trouble hearing me from Gran's house," his son pointed out with unassailable logic. "How long d'you reckon it'll take to find this bloke, then?"

"To be honest, Danny – I've got no idea. Might be a couple of days if we get a tip-off, might be weeks. Anyway, I can't make it down this weekend. And maybe not the one after, if things are still bad. Do me a favour – explain it to Katie, will you? I know Paul said he'd talk to her, but she'll listen to you."

"Yeah, no worries. Hey, Dad? You'll be careful, won't you?"

"I'm always careful, mate. Give everyone my love, yeah?"

Reid put the phone back on its base and went to microwave a diet lasagne, feeling thoughtful. He was used to having to reassure Louise and Sheila, but this was the first time Danny had ever openly expressed anxiety regarding his safety. On the one hand, it was oddly reassuring that Danny cared enough about him to be considering his wellbeing; on the other that made one more person Reid now felt he had to justify himself to, and he wasn't sure he wanted to account for his movements to a fifteen year old. Families, even at a distance, were complicated things, he concluded.

The ping of the microwave ended his musings and he busied himself with finding a plate and scanning the Radio Times to see if he could find something suitably brain-dead to watch. He could do with switching his head off for an hour or two if he was to stand any chance of a decent night's sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

"Put that constable down, Sergeant Taylor, you don't know where he's been," barked Reid sardonically as he strode through custody en route to CID the following morning, ignoring the indignant responses of the two officers in question. Their colleagues cackled in amusement, pleased that someone as respected and feared as DI Reid would deign to comment on their shenanigans.

Truth be told, Terry had been expecting there to be a gloomy pall over the station, so it was good to see the troops not letting things get to them. He'd had a text from the super to say that the pathologist's report was on his desk, and he was looking forward – if one could indeed look forward to reading the detailed analysis of a fellow officer's violent death – to using it to make some progress in the case.

"Guv." DS Ferguson hailed Reid as he passed the main office where the detective constables and sergeants worked. Reid backtracked and stuck his head round the door.

"Anything fresh?" he asked.

"Just the pathologist's report," Ferguson began, and Reid broke in impatiently.

"Yes, I know about that, I'd be reading it now if you hadn't stopped me. Anything else?"

"There's been a possible sighting of the hatchback that the killer used," Ferguson gabbled out quickly before Reid could shoot him down in flames again. "Crimestoppers got a tip after the appeal on last night's news."

"Good. And I trust the SOCOs checked the front of the station - pavement, road, fences - for any paint scratches or tyre marks?"

Ferguson nodded. "I'll email you their report on that, guv. And I wondered if we could pop round and speak to Sergeant Allan's partner, see if he knows anything..."

"_We_?" There was a note of warning in Reid's voice. "If anyone's going to be doing any popping round there, it'll be Inspector Shah and myself. Just protocol in a case where an officer's the victim," he added by way of explanation, seeing the pained look of rejection on Ferguson's face. He couldn't stand it any longer and sequestered himself in his office to go over the pathologist's report.

It had been pretty certain right from the word go that Reid and Ferguson were never going to be a match made in heaven, and the three months between Ferguson's arrival and Lindsay Allan's murder had done nothing to make Reid feel any more positive about his latest recruit. The whole thing had got off to an inauspicious start with the closest Reid had come to a row with Gardiner, when the super had called him into his office to tell him that Ferguson was being assigned to his team.

"Sir, I'm pretty sure I don't need another sergeant...aren't Marcus Wainwright and Tina Panjabi enough?"

"This chap's file has come across my desk, Terry, and I don't have much say in the matter, I'm afraid," was Gardiner's almost-apologetic response.

Reid clicked his tongue and sighed, "What is it, his uncle the chief constable or something?"

"'Or something'. Don't look at me like that, inspector..."

That was when Reid knew to push it no further. Gardiner only called him by his title when there were other officers present or, less often, when he was hacked off at Reid's inability to know where to draw the line. Or rather, his unwillingness to notice said line.

So all Reid could assume (and he did) was that DS Adam Ferguson had a well-placed relative somewhere in the force's hierarchy, and he allowed this belief to colour all his subsequent dealings with the new sergeant. Ferguson completely failed to remedy the situation in any way by being one of the most irritating personalities Reid had ever encountered – pushy, cocksure and always eager to be at the sharp end of whatever was going on. Unfortunately the rest of CID noticed both Reid's irritation and Ferguson's behaviour, and the result was that Ferguson pretty much became the squad room errand boy. If someone was needed to lead a fingertip search of the municipal dump, the lot fell upon Ferguson. Door-to-door enquiries in the nastiest corner of the worst sink-hole estate in the county were inevitably assigned to him and whoever else was unlucky enough to be in the same room at the time. Indeed, it was only a sense of guilt at this kind of treatment that had prompted Reid to accompany his sergeant and the rest of the team on the raid the night Lindsay Allan was shot. So Ferguson now bore the brunt of his resentment for that, too.

This bout of reflection led Reid to recall that as he'd been on his way out that night, Allan had shouted something at him...what had it been? He swivelled in his chair to face the window, and closed his eyes, attempting to re-create the scene.

"_Guv, I need to speak to you about something..."_

"_Whatever it is, can't it wait? There is a bit of a rush on."_

Reid's eyes popped open at the memory and he groaned and put his head in his hands. If only, if only! He would have given anything right then to be able to somehow change what he had said and done, to turn back and talk to Lindsay Allan, to do something that would have taken her away from the reception area where she had died. He felt like banging his head off the desk; in fact, he thought he had, but the noise turned out to be someone hammering on his office door.

Straightening up, he called, "Come in!" and was relieved to see it wasn't Ferguson. "What can I do you for, Tina?" he asked of his (although he refused to admit this even to himself) favourite sergeant.

"I need to book some annual leave, guv," replied Panjabi, handing over the official request form for Reid to peruse and sign.

He scanned it quickly, then looked across the room to the wallchart on which all CID leave was plotted. He frowned slightly and got up to take a closer look at it, taking the form with him. "Doesn't look like we can spare you that week, Tina, sorry. Both Ferguson and Wainwright are off then, and the week before too." He turned to her and handed back the form. "Looks like they beat you to it. What is it, a music festival or something?"

"Guv, do I look as if I'd be interested in the same sad stuff as those two?" One of the reasons Reid liked Panjabi was that she called a spade a shovel. "No, it's my friend's wedding in Mauritius."

"Impressive...unfortunately you've left it too late. Sorry."

"Are you serious, guv? You're really not going to let me have it?"

The sergeant's almost-childish incredulity was beginning to irk Reid. "Look at the chart, Tina; does it look like I can afford to? We need at least one sergeant here at all times, them's the rules." A light went on in his head. "Unless, of course, you can persuade one of the others to change their plans and let you have the week instead..."

The words had scarcely left his lips when Panjabi disappeared out of his office and could be heard fairly sprinting next door to try out his suggestion. He listened to hear what kind of responses she got, but they seemed to end mostly in "off".

"Anyone at home?" Shah peered into Reid's office with a cagey grin.

"Only to non-detective sergeants," was the occupant's riposte.

"You're not still giving that lad a hard time, I hope," Deep stated reproachfully. "He does his best, and it's not his fault if he's got friends in high places."

"What news on the tip-off about the car?" Reid asked, ignoring Shah's mini-lecture.

"Well, to be perfectly frank, it was only someone ringing in and saying they'd seen a car matching the description – a dark five-door – in the vicinity of the station near the time of the attack. Not exactly conclusive evidence that'd stand up in court."

Reid groaned. "Ferguson made it sound like a case-cracker. And you wonder why...oh, never mind. Have you had a chance to look at the post-mortem results yet?"

"I have." Shah made himself at home in the only other chair in the room, propping his feet up on a convenient archive box. "Not the kind of powder burn pattern you'd normally find in a close-range shooting. The doc thinks it might've been some kind of muffler, perhaps an improvised device."

"What, like a Coke bottle?" suggested Reid, and Shah gave a non-committal shrug. "That could explain the synthetic fragments round the entry wound."

"A navy-coloured Coke bottle?" replied Shah sceptically. "I don't see it, somehow. Perhaps an item of clothing, like a waterproof jacket. Or a sports bag."

Reid nodded slowly in agreement, mulling it over. "If we had someone in the frame, I'd be turning his house over right now, looking for exactly that. But it's only going to be a useful piece of evidence if we come up with an actual suspect."

Neither spoke for a minute or so, and when Shah finally broke the silence, it was almost reluctantly. "How's Billy Duke doing?" he asked.

"The super's put him on a week's leave. He came in to look at the CCTV stills, but he was all over the place. Probably the last thing he needed was to run through it again, he'll be having nightmares as it is. Wasn't much use; he hadn't seen the car, he'd been so focused on meeting Lindsay he didn't notice anything else." Talking about the couple led Reid to consider how they had managed to keep in touch on the QT; probably by text, he reckoned. The next step was logical. "One thing we might do," he mused, "is to check if there were any incoming calls to Lindsay's mobile, or even the front desk. I'm willing to bet Earl'll be in there somewhere, but at least it'd be one more thing to cross off the list."

"Would you mind getting one of your people to do that, Tel? It's just that if I ask one of mine..." began Shah.

"...Earl's private life'll be the talk of the canteen before morning refs," finished Reid. "No problem. I'll get Panjabi to check them, I can rely on her to be discreet."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

A timid tap on Reid's door later that day heralded the advent once again of DS Ferguson. Having actually taken note of Deep Shah's comment about cutting the boy some slack, Reid summoned his resolve and made a supreme effort.

"What?"

"Guv, I've been going through Earl's...er, DC Duke's recent cases, and I came across this..." Ferguson tentatively proffered a sheet of A4.

Curious, Reid accepted it and recognised at once the Registered Police Informant document that each officer was required to complete when undertaking work with a new snout. "Siddown," he muttered absent-mindedly, catching Ferguson quite unawares, and causing him to check the chair for booby-traps. Having found none, he lowered himself cautiously into it and awaited Reid's response.

"Have you found any other mention of this Vince Wilkins in DC Duke's case notes?" Reid finally asked, sitting back and folding his arms.

"Just one, this photograph..." Ferguson slid the print towards his DI.

Reid's eyebrows made more movement than Ferguson had seen in the entire time he'd been at Edmund Street. "Right. Best leave this with me. And not a word to anyone, all right? This could need careful handling."

-ooOOoo-

In retrospect, Reid realised that he could have phrased his advice to the sergeant with just a bit less ambiguity. Unfortunately, by the time this dawned on him, it was the following day, and he had been summonsed to Gardiner's office, where he was surprised to find Ferguson and an unknown female also present.

"Detective Inspector Reid, this is Detective Chief Inspector Knight, and of course you know Detective Sergeant Ferguson...both of the Serious and Organised Crime Agency."

_Aaargggh, _cried Reid inwardly. _He was a bloody mole! Why the hell didn't I see that? And I'm supposed to be a detective!_

"Sir," he replied, politely deadpan, and deliberately looking only at Gardiner.

"It's been brought to my attention that you have uncovered evidence relating to Detective Constable Duke's involvement with a known drug dealer," the superintendent continued, similarly monotone.

"DC Duke registered Vincent Wilkins as a police informant last February," Reid replied. "DS Ferguson showed me the official form as well as a surveillance photograph that DC Duke appears to have had taken and included in his file...for _anyone_ to check." Reid now looked, meaningfully, at Ferguson and Knight.

"And this didn't appear to you to be at all...unusual?" enquired Gardiner, and Reid thought he could discern the sarcasm creeping into his voice.

"No, sir. It's often the case that we 'turn' known criminals to our advantage. I can provide you with a list of several such instances that I have..."

"I'd stop right there, Reid, before you dig yourself in any deeper," interrupted Knight, with a slightly menacing air.

Reid didn't skip a beat. "Deeper into what, ma'am?"

"I think DCI Knight is saying that you may implicate yourself in some problematic relationships," said Gardiner, endeavouring to prevent bloodshed on his carpet. "Let's concentrate on DC Duke. Why don't we all sit down?" As he was the only one sitting, the others complied. "Now, DS Ferguson, please tell us again what you found."

-ooOOoo-

"Wow, what's eating the guv'nor?" Tina Panjabi asked, wide-eyed at the almighty slam that signalled Reid had returned to his office and shut himself in.

"Search me," shrugged DC Paul Leece, putting on his coat. "Have you seen Sergeant Ferguson anywhere this morning?"

"I thought I did earlier, as I was parking the car..." Panjabi halted mid-sentence, her eyes narrowing.

Leece spotted her hesitation and was on it like a rottweiler. "What did you see? Come on, spit it out." Not for nothing was he known around the station as "News of the World". If it was going on, he'd heard about it; if it wasn't, he made it up. Reid occasionally speculated that he'd go far in the force's press relations office.

"He was with a woman I'd never seen before," answered Panjabi, slowly and thoughtfully.

"Skirt or brass?" Leece asked, settling himself astride an office chair to grill his colleague.

"Brass, I think...well, be fair, can you really see Ferguson _with_ a woman?" replied Panjabi, scathingly.

"Good point. Right, so, brass – who is she, then? Why's she here? And is it connected with the guv just about flattening his office?" rattled off Leece.

As they were pondering these points, Ferguson entered the room and made straight for his desk, where he proceeded to pull out all the drawers and start emptying them, without any acknowledgement of his colleagues' presence.

Panjabi and Leece stared at each other, and then Tina said, as casually as she could manage, "So Adam, what's happening?"

"Can't talk about it, sorry," Ferguson answered without looking up. By now he had amassed a pile of personal items and paperwork which he began transferring into a rucksack.

"What are you, rat squad?" joked Leece, and when he got no response of any kind, the grin disappeared from his face. He looked in alarm and disbelief first at Ferguson, then Panjabi, who strode over to Ferguson's desk and slammed a drawer on his right hand.

All credit to the man, he stifled the scream so that only Reid heard what sounded like an animal in muted pain. When he made it through to the squad room, he found Ferguson alone and nursing his injured hand.

"What happened to you?" he asked, baffled.

"You're the bloody DI, you work it out," spat back Ferguson, the worm turning.

"I'll get you the accident report book," Reid replied affably, and disappeared.

Moments later in the canteen, his affability all gone, he bellowed, "Panjabi! My office!"

Tina pulled a grim face as she got up to leave, and received several murmurs of sympathy and good luck from the other officers sitting around the table with her. Paul Leece had sensibly gone out for lunch.

Panjabi stood more or less to attention in front of Reid's desk. He had not sat down either, and now unleashed his fury on her.

"I will _not_ tolerate violence between my officers, do you understand me?" he said, his eyes blazing and his voice low with suppressed rage. "No matter what the circumstances – and believe me, you cannot possibly be aware of the circumstances of this situation. You may like to know, though, that the sergeant you have just maimed is an undercover SOCA officer – a fact which I myself was ignorant of until ten minutes ago. Make that twenty, I was so bloody angry I had to go outside and have a fag, and _I'm supposed to have given up_." Reid slammed his hand down onto the desk for emphasis as well as in frustration.

"Does this mean my week's leave's out of the question, then, guv?" was her reaction.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it means your entire career is down the toilet," Reid said, still livid. "It all now depends on the good offices of DS Ferguson, and whether he decides to make an official complaint against you. And given the way he's been treated round here, I'd say he'd be highly motivated in favour of that route, wouldn't you? Now go and drag that coward Leece out of whichever pub he's hiding in and I want the pair of you back here within twenty minutes. And Tina..." he called after her as she sulked her way to the door, "...if I hear one word of a whisper out there that Ferguson was undercover I'll serve you your internal organs for breakfast, d'you hear me?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6**

With Panjabi suitably chastened – or as near to it as she was likely to be – and Leece under no illusions as to his fate if he confirmed, or contributed to in any way, the rumours surrounding Ferguson's abrupt departure, Reid was able to turn his attention to DC Duke's notes of cases he had been working on that involved Vince Wilkins; or, to be more accurate, involving information that Wilkins had provided.

The most intriguing thing he came across was a brief comment in one of Duke's reports, stating that Wilkins claimed he could identify the major contributor to the Denton drug problem. He could find no further reference to this, despite combing through all the files three times. Sitting back and heaving a sigh, a combination of weariness and disgruntlement, he looked at his watch and found to his horror that he had spent eight hours on this task. He could do with something to eat, and a stiff drink wouldn't go amiss, either, if only he were allowed one. It would have to be some black coffee, but not the canteen's; it tasted like hot water that somebody had waved a Nescafé advert over.

Another thought came to him: this would be an ideal time to check up on Duke's informant, in the absence of his official handler. And Wilkins' favourite haunts were seared on Reid's brain after a day of going through all the relevant documentation. If Wilkins could finger the local drug baron, something good would have come of this mess.

Reid grabbed his jacket and headed out to the car, then for a trawl of a couple of likely pubs. He found Wilkins in the second port of call, the Station Tavern. He also, much to his astonishment and concern, found Billy Duke. The two were sitting in close conference at a table, as far away from the door as possible.

Reid strolled up to the bar and ordered a Coke, took a couple of sips, then meandered in the direction of a quiz machine, which hid him from Wilkins' and Duke's view until he was right beside them.

"'Ello, Earl. How's Val doing?" Reid helped himself to a seat at their table, and was gratified to see the dropped jaws of both men. Wilkins obviously knew exactly who he was, as his next move was an attempt to leave.

Reid caught hold of his sleeve and pulled him back down into his chair. "That's not very sociable of you, Vince. It's actually you I came to talk to. You," he nodded at the still-dumbstruck Duke, "can stick around if you want, though." He turned back to Wilkins. "I need some information and I believe you're just the man to give me it. Tell me who's got the monopoly on supplying drugs in Denton."

Reid thought Duke was going to choke on his whisky chaser. Wilkins simply stared back at him in shock.

"Come on, Vince, I haven't got all night. We're very busy back at the nick, as Earl here may have mentioned."

Wilkins finally found his voice, and it was falsetto with fear. "Are you freaking insane? Do you know what would happen to me if I shopped..." He broke off just shy of naming the culprit.

Reid mentally cursed the man, and retorted, "Didn't stop you from offering him up to Earl before, did it?"

Duke started to protest, but Reid talked him down. "Just one name, Vince. How hard can it be? And then I'm gone, you won't need to talk to me again - unless, of course, you get up to anything naughty yourself. Tell you what," he said, the idea suddenly occurring to him. "Here's my mobile number. Call me, text me - all you have to say is the name. Nothing else. I'll know what it means."

So confident was Reid that he'd chosen the right tactic that he finished his drink, left his card with the astonished Wilkins, and walked out of the pub.

Outside on the pavement, he pulled his jacket closer to defeat the chill wind. Normally he would have lit up now, but the overwhelming feelings of success and satisfaction at catching Wilkins on the hop like that seemed to have the same effect as a nicotine hit. Better, he could also feel smug about the lack of harmful by-products. He was less sanguine about the presence of Billy Duke in the pub and in Wilkins' company. Either Duke was as bent as Knight thought he was, or there was something else going on which hadn't yet bobbed to the surface. He'd need a chat with Billy in private as soon as he could get one.

Reid walked back to his car, deep in thought, which meant that he was taken completely unawares by the punch to his kidneys and the crack on the head which the doctor would later describe as a "classic blunt instrument" injury.

oooOOOooo

He awoke to a sizeable group of people staring down at him and the reflection of blue flashing lights in the pub car park.

"Guv!" he heard a female voice exclaim, and through a fog of pain and confusion he discerned the anxious face of Tina Panjabi. Then someone else said, "He's coming round now. Give him some air," and Panjabi, protesting, was moved aside by the paramedic team. The crowd began to disperse until only the police officers and ambulance crew remained. Reid groaned as he was stretchered into the ambulance, and the paramedic with him placed an oxygen mask over his face, oblivious to the fact that at this precise moment Reid's agony was less from his injuries and more from his acute sense of déjà vu – not to mention the thought of having to once again receive a solicitous hospital visit from a superior officer. He knew Gardiner would be round, without fail. He just prayed nobody told Frost.

OooOOOooo

"I don't know what's wrong with this relief," the super commented, plucking a grape from Reid's bedside fruit basket. "If I was a superstitious man I'd say it was a curse."

Reid began to make scathing noises but quickly drew in his breath in pain. Gardiner became attentive. "Need a nurse?" He reached for the buzzer to summon help.

"No," gasped Reid, "I'm fine...the painkillers'll kick in, in a bit." He let out a long, controlled breath and slumped back onto his pillows.

"I don't suppose you've any idea who did this?" Gardiner asked, keeping one eye on Reid as he helped himself to more fruit and offered some to the patient.

"No, thanks," declined the latter, wincing slightly. "And, no – since whoever it was came from behind, and it was dark, I've no idea who they were." He was still trying to straighten out in his mind whether he should tell Gardiner why he'd been at the Tavern in the first place, let alone mention his conversation with Duke and Wilkins. Of course, both of them were prime suspects for the assault. He had better say something.

"I was actually at the pub on official business." He managed to make it sound like a throwaway remark, but it had anything but the desired effect.

"What?" Gardiner was aghast.

Reid rolled his eyes in mock martyrdom. "Don't worry, I won't claim the overtime."

"So were you meeting someone there?" The super sat forward on the edge of his seat now, his attention fixed on Reid.

"I didn't plan to, no. But I'd been going through Billy Duke's files for information about Vince Wilkins, and discovered something that I thought was worth following up on. I knew where Wilkins hung out, so I took a punt and got lucky. He was in the Station Tavern when I arrived, and I managed to...have a word with him."

"Go on."

Reid reached for a glass of water, which Gardiner obligingly poured and handed to him. He took a sip and went on, "The case notes hinted that Wilkins could identify a major drug supplier, and had offered him up, still naming no names, to DS Duke. When I got to the Tavern, I found the two of them sitting together."

"What, Wilkins and Duke?" interrupted an incredulous Gardiner.

"Yes, and I tried to take Wilkins up on his offer of information, but he wasn't happy I knew about it, although he almost let the name slip. So I left him my mobile number – I think he'd be more likely to grass anonymously, rather than tell me face to face – and just left it at that. I went out to the car, and...well, I don't remember a lot after that. Obviously the two incidents might be related."

"You think?" Gardiner enquired, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

A doctor appeared, glanced at Gardiner (who was out of uniform), and announced, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, I'm afraid. Are you a relative?"

"I'm Detective Inspector Reid's senior officer." Gardiner rose to his feet and towered over the five foot-five white-coated specialist.

"Unfortunately that doesn't count as next of kin," came the reply, accompanied by a whiff of sarcasm. "There's a waiting area just down the hallway." He held the room door open and Gardiner left, signalling to Reid that he wasn't going far.

The doctor closed the door and turned to his patient. "Well, Mr. Reid, we've been looking at your x-rays, and while I'm pleased to say there's no significant new damage, we are sufficiently concerned about your previous head injury that I've arranged for a CAT scan. Someone will be along to take you for that in about half an hour, all right?"

"What, you think they've damaged the previous fracture?" While not unduly alarmed, Reid wanted to be aware of all the possibilities.

"That's what we're going to investigate with the scan. Fortunately, you were discovered fairly soon after the attack, it would appear, and we've been able to minimise any swelling that might have occurred, as well as check for bleeding. That all seems to be under control, it's just the pre-existing fracture line that we'll be focusing on, OK? Any more questions?"

"Once I've had the scan, can I go home?" Reid asked, eyes shut. He felt drained but unable to sleep.

"We'll talk about that after you come back up from radiology," replied the doctor. He was quiet for a moment, then when Reid opened his eyes again to check if he'd left, continued, "Try and rest. Your whole body's still coping with the trauma of a head injury, there'll be all sorts of knock-on effects for a while yet. Just call for the nurse if you feel anything unusual happening, any pain or problems with your vision. I'll see you in a while." He actually patted Reid on the arm as he left.

Gardiner stuck his head round the door a few moments later. "I'm going now, Terry, but I'll pop back later. You get some sleep."

"Fat chance of that round here," scoffed Reid. "They'll be along soon to take me for one of those bloody tunnel scans. Don't suppose you could smuggle me in some fags?" he added, only half-jokingly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7**

"Ooft, mind how you go there, Terry," warned Gardiner, as Reid's first attempt to get out of the passenger seat ended in failure. Reid sat steadying himself for a moment, then tried again, and this time was able to stand up and walk to his front door.

Inside, he collapsed heavily into an armchair, his head throbbing. Gardiner regarded him with an exasperated frown. "I really don't think you should be here on your own. You'd be better off in the hospital."

Reid looked up at him wearily. "Sir, I've done all this before. I've had every inch of me scanned and tested, and so far as they can tell there's no damage to the old fracture. I've got these -" he held up a hospital pharmacy bag - "and instructions to get plenty of rest, so there wasn't much point in staying another night - that ward they moved me to was like Oxford Circus on a Saturday afternoon. At least here I can get some peace and quiet."

Outmanoeuvred, Gardiner shrugged. "I'll go and stick the kettle on. D'you want some tea? If you pass me those pills I'll put them in the kitchen for you."

"Yeah, thanks. But listen, you don't have to…" began Reid, and then gave up in exhaustion and defeat as Gardiner could be heard clattering around in the kitchen, dispensing tea and painkillers.

"Thanks, sir, it's not that I don't appreciate it, I do…" Reid said as the super placed a hot drink by his elbow and prepared to leave.

"Think nothing of it, Terry. And I don't want to see you back at work until you're signed off by the doctor, understand? I'll give you a call tomorrow and probably drop by later in the week." So saying, Gardiner let himself out and closed the door quietly in consideration for Reid's head.

It was dark by the time Reid came to. He had fallen asleep in the living room chair, the half-full teacup by his side. As he moved to sit up, he discovered that the painkillers he'd taken that afternoon had worn off. With a groan of pain and effort he began to struggle to his feet and then stopped, froze, listened. There it was again, a tap-tap-tapping…at the window? The kitchen window, it sounded like. Slowly and carefully, Terry rose and staggered to the living room door, then peered round the corner into the kitchen. There was definitely somebody skulking about in the back garden, because the security light had come on.

And he had no idea what to do. He was in no condition to confront an intruder, and if he put a light on or opened the door he might well find himself doing just that. As he deliberated the light went off, and after waiting for two or three minutes with no further sign or sound of activity, he thought it safe to assume that the prowler, whoever he (or she) was, had lost interest and gone away. All the same, Reid checked that both back and front doors were secure, and the downstairs windows too, for good measure. And he would need to remember to lock the bedroom windows when he turned in for the night.

He toyed with the idea of calling the station and asking for someone to stop by and take a look, but decided that it wouldn't be worth the grief he would no doubt get afterwards from the beat coppers. Giving up, he started to climb the stairs and almost fell over at the sound of a knock on the front door. Swearing under his breath, he came back down to the hall and called out, "Who's there?"

"Terry?" came a hoarse voice. "It's Russ, Russell Grady. From D Squadron."

Reid felt as if someone had rewound the videotape 23 years, to the freezing hillsides and exposed beaches of the Falklands. His first confused instinct was to dive and seek cover, but then he forced himself back into reality and opened the door a crack. The porch light illuminated the face of the red-haired, heavy-set man standing on the doorstep. It was, without doubt, Corporal Russell "Greedy" Grady.

"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?" asked the visitor with a smirk that said, "Gotcha!". "It's taken me weeks to track you down, you're like the bloody Scarlet Pimpernel."

"Uh…yes, sorry! Come in." Reid flung the door open and beckoned Grady into the hall. He noted the kitbag on the man's shoulder. "Come through to the living room." As he turned to show his impromptu guest the way, Reid missed his footing slightly, and Grady gave a grating laugh.

"Been on the sauce, eh, Tel? Some things never change." He gave his old comrade a hearty slap on the back, catching him off-balance and sending him flying, fortuitously, onto the couch.

"No, actually, I'm just out of hospital after being mugged," replied Reid from the sofa, sounding more polite than he felt.

Grady guffawed again, then stopped abruptly when he realised that Reid was utterly serious. He noticed the dressing on the back of his host's head.

"Geez, you're not kidding, are you, mate? Sorry. Here, let me get you something…did they give you tablets to take?"

"They're on the kitchen table, in a bag," mumbled Reid through the fog of pain that had now descended.

"OK, wait there, I'll be right back." Grady disappeared and soon returned with a glass of water and the correct dosage of medication. He sat and watched with concern as Reid gulped it down. "I'm surprised they let you out, head injury like that."

"I didn't give them much choice. Can't stand hospitals," replied Reid, lying back on the sofa, his eyes closed and his arm shielding his face from the light. Spotting his discomfort, Grady quickly switched on a table lamp, then put out the offending ceiling light. "Thanks," Reid mumbled gratefully.

"Look, you obviously need to get some rest, so why don't I get you some blankets and a pillow, eh?" offered Grady. "Just tell me where you keep them."

Too tired and dazed to argue, Reid told him where to find the bedclothes and almost at once, it seemed, he was covered in a duvet and Grady was helping him to sit up so he could arrange the pillows at his head.

_He never remembered his dreams, but this one was different. SAS D Squadron were back at Pebble Island, attacking the Argentinian airfield. The noise was unbelievable: mortars, grenade launchers, gunfire. The man beside Reid screamed as he took some shrapnel from a land mine._

Waking up drenched in sweat, Reid saw the sunlight shining through the curtains and wondered for a split second where the hell he was. He heard a guttural snore from across the room and looked over to see Grady asleep in an armchair.

A wave of panic suddenly swept over Reid as he realised that he couldn't move his legs; they felt like dead weights. He looked down and discovered that Charlie was lying across his shins, fast asleep. Reid flopped back onto the pillows with a grin of relief. Bloody animal! It hadn't half given him a fright. He suspected it was Charlie's way of exacting revenge for having to rough it during Reid's hospital stay.

Grady stirred and grunted, then stretched. He looked over at Reid and Charlie.

"He's a greedy little beggar, isn't he?" the guest remarked, nodding at the ginger cat that had Reid pinned to the settee. "I saw him in your garden last night, so after you'd conked out I opened the back door and he shot in for a feed. I assumed he was yours – looks like I was right!"

"Yes, he is." Reid scratched Charlie behind the ear and the cat flexed his claws, purring happily. "Was that you lurking round the back, then? What were you trying to do, get yourself arrested?"

Grady looked sheepish. "Sorry, Tel, I just wanted to make sure I had the right place."

"The normal method is to knock on the front door, you berk."

"Well, I did, didn't I?" Grady got up from his chair-cum-bed and announced, "I fancy a fry-up. You?"

"I suppose so. Didn't get much to eat the last couple of days."

Reid hadn't noticed how hungry he was until Grady presented the plateful of bacon, eggs, beans, and fried bread, which he duly polished off, followed by coffee that you could have tarred the road with. It was breakfast exactly the way he liked it and it made him feel immeasurably better.

"So what brings you to this neck of the woods, Russ? How long are you on leave for?" Reid enquired as he mopped up the last morsel of beans.

Grady hesitated, then said, "I'll be straight with you, Tel, I'm in a spot of bother."

"What've you done, you idiot?" smiled Reid, imagining that Grady had been pilfering booze from the NAAFI or something similarly stupid, and ended up on a charge.

"I've gone AWOL."

A stony silence descended on the front room of 18 Bracken Hill as Reid digested this vital piece of information.

"Sorry, I know this puts you in an awkward position..." Grady began to say, but was shot down in flames by a furious Reid.

"An 'awkward position'? I should bloody think so!" he stormed. His empty plate went clattering to the floor, where it lay unheeded. "You do know what I do for a living, Russ?" Grady nodded meekly. "Never mind awkward, more like a sodding _impossible_ position! What if my superintendent comes round to see how I am and finds out I'm harbouring a fugitive? How long d'you think I'll last in the force after that?"

"Calm down, Terry, you'll pop a vein. Look, I'll be gone in a couple of days, but right now I need somewhere to rest up and plan what I'm going to do next. You wouldn't chuck an old mate out into the street, would you?"

For two pins Reid absolutely would have thrown him out, but right then he didn't have the energy. The brief storm of rage had exhausted his small reserve of strength and he was suddenly worn out.

"Upstairs with you," he ordered, pointing the way, "and don't come down unless I say it's safe. Take some biscuits and stuff so you don't need to use the kitchen. That way, if someone comes to the door, you won't have to scuffle about trying to hide, you're out of the way already. Understand?"

Grady meekly complied. "You're the boss, Tel. I wouldn't want to get you into any trouble."

Reid was too incensed to reply, but dismissed Grady with a brusque wave of the hand. The big man slunk off into the kitchen, gathered up some food and drink, and returned to the living room to ask, "Which bedroom, Tel, back or front?"

"BACK!" bellowed Reid, sending Charlie leaping guiltily away from the remains on the breakfast plate, and Grady hurrying upstairs. "And stay there, I don't care if the house catches fire, you just bloody stay up there!" As the door swung shut behind the retreating Grady, Reid wearily shooed Charlie away from another go at the leftovers and picked the plate up off the floor.

His head was starting to ache again, although not nearly as badly as the previous day. He took his morning's round of tablets and lay back down on the couch, too fired-up and jittery to sleep again. Not that this was necessarily a bad thing – he didn't want to have another one of those dreams, and he certainly didn't want to wake up and find out that Grady's presence had been noted, least of all by anyone from work.

Reid rested for a while, and as his equilibrium returned he began to mull over the situation. _Perhaps there's some way I can check if anyone's looking for him_, he thought. Phoning the station to make enquiries, no matter how discreet, would not be a wise move. _Maybe I could try some news websites_. Having decided on that strategy, he reached down behind the settee and pulled out his laptop. He was still getting accustomed to having 24-hour internet access at home; it was something else that Sheila had talked him into, and if he was honest with himself, he quite enjoyed being able to stay informally in touch with her via e-mail. That was less hard work than phone conversations. It was also fascinating and slightly terrifying for him to discover exactly how much information was available on the web.

Reid had bought a book called "Internet for Complete Idiots", which he was in the habit of using whenever he went online. It had helped him to pick up the basics of searching, so he went to Google and typed in "Russell Grady" and "fugitive". He was alarmed and gratified in equal measure when two newspaper articles popped up, and upon reading them he was relieved to find that while it was an important story in the corner of Wiltshire where Grady was from, his house guest's disappearance wasn't presently making the national news.

He sat back, his fingers combing through his thinning hair, and let out a sigh of relief. Even if the super or someone else from the office did come to visit, they weren't likely to be suspicious of Grady's presence...in fact...it _could_ be explained as a planned visit, to look after Reid while he recuperated. Grady would need to use another name, though, just in case. Yes. That would work.

Setting aside his computer, Reid climbed heavily up the stairs to speak with Grady and tell him the cover story. He entered the spare room and found, among the discarded biscuit wrappers, crisp packets and pop cans, the slumbering form of his ex-colleague on the bed. He sighed. Apparently Grady had done nothing in the intervening years to rid himself of his pejorative nickname.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 8**

"So I'm _who?_" the newly-awakened Grady rubbed his hand over his face and hair as he tried to assimilate what Reid had just told him.

"You're Bob Jackson. We worked together as bouncers in London when I got out of the service. I've tried to keep it as ordinary and anonymous as I can without sounding totally fictitious. Think you can manage to remember it? I seriously doubt whether anyone will actually question you, but it should be easy enough to say, 'Tel and I used to crack heads together at a nightclub in London' - OK?"

Grady nodded, still absorbing this information. "I'll be fine, Terry. I really do appreciate you going to all this trouble..."

"Oh, don't get all mushy on me, Russ, let's just get the next few days out of the way. I'll go back to work, you'll move on, and hopefully there won't be any awkward questions for either of us." Reid paused as if considering his next words, then asked, "I don't suppose you've thought about handing yourself in?"

Grady's face closed over. "I knew you'd say that eventually. You mustn't ask me to do that, Tel." He grabbed a can of Fanta and guzzled it down, then in search of further comfort reached for the last Kit Kat.

Reid leaned casually against the window-sill and employed his best soft interrogation skills. "You still haven't told me why you went AWOL. What happened? It must have been really bad for you to go on the run."

Grady began to get agitated. "I don't want to talk about it." He busied himself tidying up the detritus from his snacks, throwing papers and cans into the waste-basket in the corner of the bedroom.

"I know, but if I'm going to be sheltering a runner, I think I have..."

"Don't tell me you think you've got the right to know, Terry, please." To Reid's dismay and embarrassment, Grady started to look tearful, and left the room. The sound of running water from the bathroom told Reid that he had better back off for now. He reckoned that Grady would tell him what had gone on, if and when he chose to – and if he didn't, well, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Reid had to confess to himself that it was his copper's instinct kicking in that had made him curious about his friend's reasons for absconding.

oooOOOooo

The moment they had been anticipating and dreading came, in the shape of Superintendent Gardiner, the following afternoon. Unheralded, his green Shogun drew up outside, and Reid went quickly upstairs to warn Grady.

"Right, that's my super here. Don't skulk about, just flush the toilet and come downstairs - be sociable, offer him tea and stuff, and make yourself busy in the kitchen so he can chat to me. He's not here to see you, just remember that." He patted Grady reassuringly on the arm, then went downstairs to answer the doorbell.

"Terry, how are you?" The super smiled, wiped his feet on the doormat and crossed the threshold, cap tucked underneath his arm.

"A lot better, sir, thanks." He invited Gardiner to take a seat in the living room, and, right on cue, the upstairs toilet could be heard flushing.

Gardiner raised quizzical eyebrows at Reid. "Oh, that's an old mate of mine, Bob Jackson. He's come to stay for a few days till I get on me feet again. Bob," as Grady entered the room, "this is my guv'nor, Superintendent Gardiner."

Grady extended a hand and Gardiner shook it warmly. "Nice to meet you, Bob."

"You too," responded Grady, pleasantly. "How about I make some tea while you and Terry have a chat?"

"That'd be great, Bob, thanks," Reid answered, almost slipping up and calling him Russ. _You idiot, be careful!_ he berated himself, but Grady played his part to perfection, bringing tea and biscuits, then retiring discreetly to the kitchen, where he could be heard re-doing the washing-up that Reid had finished only ten minutes before.

"This is ideal, Terry," said the super, munching on a chocolate finger. "I wish you'd told me you had somebody who could come and keep an eye on you, I'd have worried less." It was said more as a statement of fact than as a reproof, but Reid took it as such.

"I'm sorry, sir, I should have let you know..."

"No, don't apologise! You've suffered a serious head injury, you can't be expected to think of everything. At least Bob's here to make sure you don't overtax yourself – I'm sure he's been invaluable."

"He has, sir, he's been a star at nipping down the shops and generally helping me out," Reid lied.

"Excellent." Gardiner helped himself to a fourth biscuit. "Now in case you were wondering, I'm not here about work. I just wanted to check you were all right. Hope you didn't mind me calling in unannounced."

What Reid _was_ wondering was if the chocolate fingers would survive the afternoon, and he knew that Grady would have counted them onto the plate and be stewing over how many the super was consuming. "More tea, sir?" he offered, in a bid to slow down the rate of disappearing biscuits.

"No, no, I must be going, actually, I've a meeting with the DAC in..." he looked at his watch... "twenty-five minutes, so I'd better get a move on. Very glad to see you're on the mend, Terry. Give me a call when you've seen the doctor and let me know how it goes." He scooped up a handful of Jaffa cakes, then replaced his cap on his head as he walked towards the front door, and called out, "'Bye, Bob, it was nice meeting you."

"Bob" emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands with a dish towel for effect (Reid rolled his eyes behind Gardiner's back at this pantomime), and replied, "Thanks, and you," as the super left. Reid closed the door absurdly carefully, then collapsed against it, letting out an enormous sigh of relief.

"Bloody Norah! I thought he'd never stop eatin' them biscuits!" exclaimed Grady in high dudgeon, earning himself a good-natured slap round the head from Reid.

oooOOOooo

The rest of the day passed without further incident. Reid had been fretting about the food stocks running low, since he could barely walk the length of the garden path without feeling like death warmed up. As Grady was confined to quarters, he proposed they order some groceries online, much to Reid's amazement - "Blimey, Russ, being in the army's actually taught you something useful" - and these were delivered that evening.

Reid sat at the kitchen table and supervised the putting-away of the purchases. He had managed to get the message across to his new lodger that alcohol was most definitely _not_ on the shopping list any more, and after some limited sulking Grady had agreed, albeit reluctantly, not to order any. This didn't stop him getting a dig in as he unpacked the frozen food, milk, bread, and other comestibles.

"Thirsty work, this...I'll just get a drink of _water_..."

"Yes, Russ, I get the point. You could always go down the pub, there's one just at the end of the street," Reid suggested cuttingly.

Grady looked pained. "The first place they'd look for me in any town," he retorted, "would be the boozer."

"That explains your keenness to buy some in," was the reply. "You should follow my shining example and chuck it. Best thing I ever did."

"Yeah...I noticed you're not smoking, either," observed Grady, his admiration tempered by scepticism.

Reid scowled. "That's more of a recent development," he said, realising with surprise that he hadn't had a cigarette for a couple of days. "No patches, though – it has to be cold turkey with me, or it doesn't work." His methadone addiction and the precursor to it were not a part of his life that he was willing to reveal to Grady. He very much believed in the principle that once you'd conquered something - a habit, an appetite, a compulsion – you needed to put it behind you and never refer to it unless absolutely necessary. Not to deny it had ever been a problem, for that would have been self-delusion, but in order for him to move on, it was essential that he not continue to mentally beat himself up over it. That way he gained strength from what had once been a weakness, because he was able to prove to himself that he _could_ overcome these things.

"Right, that's everything away," announced Grady, as he straightened up from stocking the fridge. "Are we having this steak and kidney pie tonight?"

"Sounds good to me," Reid replied. "I'll get that on if you peel the spuds."

"OK," Grady assented. "Oh, I meant to ask, Tel – would you mind if I got some washing done while I'm here? Only, I don't have much in the way of changes of clothes with me..."

Reid wrinkled up his nose at the very thought. "Enough said, help yourself. Washing powder's under the sink."

Grady went upstairs to retrieve his laundry and Reid set about preparing dinner. He was quite enjoying domesticity, no work to worry about, no phones ringing off the hook...suddenly he realised that since the attack, he hadn't had a call or a text on his mobile. _Dammit, the battery'll have died, and I bet Sheila's been calling and texting to find out what's going on. She's probably heard on the grapevine; in fact, it's a miracle she's not been round before now..._ the thought of a possible visit from Sheila made him sprint through to the living room, find his phone, and coax it into life with the help of the charger. Sure enough, several brief but increasingly panicked messages from Sheila showed up, as well as some missed calls. Sighing, he dialled her number on his landline and braced himself.

"Hell's teeth, Terry!" Sheila's voice was a familiar mixture of exasperation and concern. "What's going on up there? The rumour mill's got you a vegetable, or dead, or in intensive care clinging on by a thread, and I couldn't raise you on your mobile, and there was no answer from your landline..."

"Hold on!" Reid broke in, stemming the flow before Sheila really hit her stride. "The bit about the baseball bat's true; the rest of it's cobblers." He delivered her a swift account of the events in the pub and the subsequent incident in the car-park.

"So you've got two suspects but no way of pinning it on anyone?" Sheila asked.

"I don't think it was Billy Duke," mused Reid aloud. "He's been a total prat, but I don't see him as the type to whack another copper with a blunt instrument."

"Well, whoever it was, I'm glad you're OK. When's it convenient for me to come up? I've got a couple of days leave owing, and I could..."

"It's fine, really." Reid was using his most reassuring voice. "I'm pottering around at home on sick-leave, and I've got an old army mate staying with me. He's been abroad, and he was house-hunting in this area; we'd arranged for him to stay with me while he looked round, so it was quite lucky."

There was a little silence and then Sheila said: "Why is it you don't want me up there? What are you up to?"

_Bollocks,_ thought Reid. He should've known that Sheila would be harder to fob off than Gardiner. She knew him too well. Levelling with her – as far as he could – was going to be the only way. "Look, Sheila... this is one of those 'what you don't know can't hurt you' things. I'm doing a favour for an old mate, and I'm pretty sure I can get it all sorted without any aggro, but it's a bit dodgy and I don't want you involved when you don't need to be, okay?"

"Not really, but I suppose you're going to do it anyway whatever I say. How sure are you that you can get it sorted?"

"About... ninety percent?" Reid offered hopefully.

Sheila made a non-committal sound and then said, almost pleadingly: "Just promise me one thing – it's not anything to do with drugs, is it?"

"Oh for God's _sake_!" Reid regretted his involuntarily heated answer the instant it was out of his mouth, and the sharp jab of pain that ran across his forehead when he raised his voice was by far the secondary consideration.

"Well, pardon me for giving a monkey's," came the slightly frosty reply.

Reid resisted the desire to smash the receiver against the wall and instead pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache. He bloody hated phones for important conversations; being unable to see someone's face made it so much harder to judge their mood and anticipate their reactions. "Look, I'm sorry, Sheila. Please believe me when I say you never met a bloke who looked less like a junkie than the geezer currently sorting through his smalls in my spare room. A pisshead, for sure, but a drug-user he ain't."

Sheila sighed. "I shouldn't have asked you that, but I've been going a bit frantic down here. Just promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"I solemnly swear to be a model of mature adulthood," Reid grinned. "And as soon as I've got this feller sorted and I'm back on my feet I'll be in touch. Do me a favour?"

"If I can."

"Don't let anyone contact Louise and the kids. I had to cancel this weekend because of the Lindsay Allan murder anyway, and I don't want Lou hearing I got my head bashed in for the second time. She'll just have the ab-dabs and scare the kids."

"No problem." Sheila's robust common-sense was always reassuring. "Your little escapade hasn't made the news down here, so as long as I warn the troops not to go waffling about it in public we'll be OK. Look, I'd better scarper – I've just had the world's longest coffee-break. Take care of yourself."

Reid promised, and rang off feeling he'd got away with it all fairly lightly, considering. Turning his attention back to the mobile he began to delete the texts from Sheila to free up his inbox a bit. As he worked his way down the list he suddenly frowned in confusion. He was looking at a text that consisted of just two words: Eric Hayden.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9**

"Eric Hayden". This had to be a wrong number. Reid knew nobody by that name. But why was somebody sending him a text containing only a name? Then the realisation swept over him, like a wave of ice-cold water – it was from Vince Wilkins, as per Reid's instructions: _"Tell me who's got the monopoly on supplying drugs in Denton." _He'd been so preoccupied with Grady's unexpected appearance and coping with his own recovery that work had faded to the back of his mind. The text brought him back to reality with a vengeance.

Reid sank into his chair, gathering his thoughts and trying to see a way forward. This was potentially a very big break, but at the same time, Billy Duke's relationship with Wilkins had proved only too clearly that the lines between the local police and the villains had become somewhat blurred. So Reid might be unwise to make it generally known that this Eric Hayden, whoever he was, could be somehow involved in drugs. At the very least, some unsuspecting clot in CID might bump into Duke and mention it to him.

Gardiner was really the only person whom Terry felt he could trust. Looking at the time, it was safe to assume that by now he'd be free to check his phone messages, if not to speak to anyone. Reid composed a brief text, "Can you stop by and see me again? Urgent info," then pressed the send button. He refused to succumb to the current texting fad for missing out vowels and reducing words to their shortest possible form.

Only five minutes later, as Reid was putting dinner in the oven, a ringtone alerted him to the arrival of a new text message. It was from Gardiner, and he was on his way back. Reid turned to Grady, who was fiddling with the dial on the washing machine, and told him, "The super's coming by again, he needs to discuss a case with me."

"Say no more, Terry, I'll make myself scarce." Grady started the wash and took himself off up to the spare room; shortly thereafter Gardiner appeared again at the front door.

"Sorry about this, sir, but I felt it couldn't wait," explained Reid as the super seated himself in the front room.

"No problem, Terry. What's it in relation to?" Catching on to Reid's sense of urgency, Gardiner leaned forward in anticipation.

"Well, you remember the night this happened?" Reid indicated his head wound. "I told you I gave Vince Wilkins my number and asked him to text me the name of the person he thought was the key player on the Denton drugs scene."

Gardiner nodded. "Has he got back to you?"

In response, Reid handed him his phone, the message from Wilkins ready to view. Gardiner looked thoughtful, then asked, "Does the name mean anything to you?"

"Not a thing," answered Reid. "You?"

The super shook his head. "Never heard of him. Maybe he's new in town?"

"Could be. I doubt I'll get any more out of Wilkins, and I don't think it would be a good move to have anyone else investigating Hayden, in case word got out somehow."

"Are you saying that you think you should handle the case solo?" Gardiner sat back in his chair, legs crossed.

Reid found it impossible to tell from his demeanour and body language if his boss approved or disapproved of the idea. "I can't see an alternative," he replied. "Can you?"

Gardiner mulled it over for a moment, then said, "Leave it with me for the time being. I can check Hayden out, see what we have on him, without any of the troops knowing about it. I'll let you know what I find, if anything. You realise that this could simply be Wilkins feeding you duff information in order to get you off his back?"

"Yes," agreed Reid, "or that 'Eric Hayden' is an assumed name...or any number of other possibilities."

Gardiner prepared to go. "I appreciate you letting me know, Terry, especially as you're on sick leave."

"Well, hopefully after the weekend I won't be, sir. I'm due back at the doctor's tomorrow for a check-up."

"Do you feel better?"

"Actually, I'm surprised at how much better I _do_ feel," Reid answered. "Still got the headaches, of course – only to be expected – but nothing like I did."

oooOOOooo

Reid was right, although he was actually taken aback and slightly disappointed when his doctor signed him off sick leave from the following Monday, on the condition that he start with a few hours a day and work up gradually to full-time. Despite the nagging worries over what had happened to make Grady go AWOL, and what the hell he was going to do about the fact that his friend showed little inclination to move on, Reid had quite enjoyed having a cast-iron excuse to loaf around all day, snoozing with Charlie and chatting with Russ. His parental responsibilities meant that in the usual way of things he spent a lot of his free time either in London or driving back and forth from there; consequently most of his social life was completely disassociated from Denton and its environs.

Occasionally he'd go down the pub with some of his team, but the fact that he was still basically teetotal made that a little awkward; other than that he spent a lot of time alone, reading, watching TV, and listening to music. Whilst he valued his privacy and his independence, it had begun to dawn on him over the last few days that he had been in danger of becoming a bit of a hermit, à la _Inspector Morse, _and he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea.

Once back at the nick, his first order of business was to have DS Wainwright bring him up to speed on the Lindsay Allan murder, although there was little to report. The only line of enquiry that showed any promise was the one Reid had discussed with Kuldeep Shah: a check of any phone calls Lindsay had received just prior to her death.

"Two five-second calls?" Reid studied the printout from the mobile provider.

"Twelve and four minutes before she was shot," explained Wainwright, "from another mobile that we've been unable to trace – an unregistered pay-as-you-go phone. We tried to identify the supplier, but it's a counterfeit handset made in China and..."

"...impossible to track down – probably sold at some bootleg stall on the market," finished Reid. Dissatisfied, he stared at the phone bill as if the answer to their problem would suddenly appear on it. "Five seconds – not long enough for any kind of conversation, I'd say."

"More like hang-ups," Wainwright agreed. "Perhaps she was being stalked? I'll get DC Strachan to go over the last few months of Allan's phone activity and see if there's a pattern of silent calls."

Reid mulled it over, then tossed the papers onto the desk. He stretched back in his chair, hands behind his head. "What does Billy Duke say?"

Wainwright raised his eyebrows. "Not a lot. Of course we checked his phone numbers against Allan's call log, and although there was plenty of traffic between the two of them, none of his calls were ever as short as five seconds. He seems genuinely cut up about Lindsay, guv, I really think we can rule him out as having had any part in it."

"You'll get no argument from me on that score, Marcus." Reid forbore to mention that he reckoned Billy Duke's weakness lay in another direction. "But I think I'll pop round and see how he's doing, all the same. He's probably overdue a visit anyway." There was no "probably" about it; Reid had already checked with Gardiner and knew perfectly well that no-one had been to the Duke home since the day of the shooting. Going over there would appear to be simply a senior officer on a compassionate visit.

All this was rolling around in Reid's slightly-achy head as he drove to Carlyle Road mid-morning. He had followed the doctor's instructions by pacing himself at the office, and planned to go straight home after his chat with Duke.

Having parked his car, Reid strode up the path of the terraced house. The street was very quiet, it being a school day, and only a few mums with small children were about. Duke had apparently noticed Reid's arrival, as the tones of the doorbell were still sounding when he answered the door, clad in t-shirt and shorts.

"Hello, guv."

"Hello, Earl. Mind if I come in?" Reid had used that line countless times before, but the difference here was that he didn't immediately walk past the occupant without waiting for a reply. He was, though, keenly aware that the man he was addressing was one of the last two people to talk to him before the attack outside the Station Tavern.

"Sure, of course." Duke led him through to the sitting room. The house was well-kept and the smell of fresh laundry filled the air.

Reid noticed the aroma. "Val keeping you busy while she's at work, is she?"

"List like you wouldn't believe." Duke shook his head with a wry grin.

"Just wanted to catch up with you, see how things are going." Reid was keeping a look-out for any signs of guilty knowledge, but could see none, only a slight shiftiness on Duke's part.

"Not too bad, guv." Duke hesitated, then plunged ahead. "Um..."

"Yes, Earl?"

"That night you saw me in the Station..."

"The night someone whacked me on the head with a baseball bat?" Reid countered, without a trace of amusement.

"Er...yes. I was with Vince Wilkins...you haven't mentioned that to anyone, have you?" Duke sat on the edge of the sofa, intent on Reid's response.

Reid chose not to answer him, but instead asked, "Did you follow me outside, Earl?"

Duke came bolt upright in his seat, completely aghast at the implication. "No! What do you think I am?"

"A police officer on the take," shot back Reid, with a steely glare. "Or at the very outside, one who fraternises with criminals. Am I wrong?"

Duke looked at the floor, hot shame flooding his cheeks.

Reid pushed on. "I'm not, am I? I knew it the minute I saw you and Wilkins in the pub that night. And he told you to follow me and sort me out."

"NO!" Duke was on his feet now, shouting in anger.

"What, so you're not violent, you're just bent?" Reid was determined to provoke the truth out of him.

Duke dropped back onto the sofa, his face buried in his hands, and began to sob uncontrollably. Reid was baffled. And then he spotted the fading needle tracks on Billy Duke's left arm.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 10**

"Tell me what's been going on, Billy." The unusually soft tenor of Reid's voice made Duke look up, alert for any investigative tricks. Nobody at work had called him "Billy" since the day he'd started at Edmund Street - nobody until Lindsay. When he saw the genuine sympathy on his DI's face the tears came freely again.

"I miss her so much," he bawled, wiping his eyes in a pointless attempt to regain composure.

Hesitant in the face of his junior officer's emotion, Reid moved carefully to sit beside Duke on the sofa. Sheila Boydeau or Jack Frost would have been ready with words of comfort and encouragement, but that wasn't Reid's forté. Instead, he placed a consoling hand on Duke's shoulder as the story continued.

"She loved me, she helped me get clean...now she's gone, and Val's moved out and taken the kids..."

"Val's gone?" echoed Reid, shocked.

Duke continued, "She guessed about Lindsay when I didn't go back to work after a couple of days...she found me like this one afternoon, she'd finished earlier than usual...and figured it out. Didn't even ask me if it was true, just said what she thought had been going on, and when I didn't – couldn't - deny it, she went upstairs and packed a bag for herself and each of the kids. Then she drove off to pick them up from school as usual, and they never came home. I rang her sister in Derby, and after I pressed her she admitted they were there, but Val wouldn't speak to me." He started to break down again as he finished, "I think she's been to see a solicitor. And I'm a total mess."

Reid couldn't find it in his heart to disagree with Duke's assessment of his situation. Instead, he spoke kindly to the man. "Go and get freshened up, Earl, and we'll go in to the office and speak to the super. You need to tell him everything you've told me, with as much detail as you can, especially about Vince Wilkins and the drugs. If you're straight with him there's maybe a chance that you can salvage something out of this. No promises, mind."

oooOOOooo

The inevitable happened, of course, as Reid had suspected it would: Duke was suspended pending an internal investigation for drug abuse as well as for breaching the rules protecting police information. He had turned informant when Wilkins was supposed to be the one tipping _him_ off; instead, Wilkins had blackmailed Duke with the threat of revealing his drug habit to his wife, the police, and the press.

Once word got around the station, it was obvious that while there was a certain amount of sympathy for Earl and the predicament he'd got himself into, there was also a feeling that he had let the side down. Having a relationship with a fellow officer was something his colleagues hadn't minded turning a blind eye to, but they drew the line at getting into bed with villains.

"This also throws up another possible reason for Lindsay Allan's murder," remarked Gardiner, somewhat despondently. He, Reid and Shah were having another of their lunchtime meetings, only this one was not quite as upbeat as the last, and distinctly less spectacular too. Reid eyed the uninspiring cheese sandwiches and supermarket Battenberg with disappointment. Mrs. Stewart had clearly not been involved in the preparation of this austere repast.

Shah made a suggestion. "Maybe the plan was to send DS Duke a message: 'If you cross us, someone you love will die'."

Reid frowned. "Then why not, God forbid, pick the obvious targets of his wife and children? Whoever it was obviously knew Earl and Lindsay were in a relationship, so surely if they knew that much about him then they knew he had a family, too?"

"Good point, Terry," mused the super. "Are we really no further forward with identifying the shooter? I thought we had a promising lead on that."

"DS Wainwright suggested a review of Sergeant Allan's phone records to try and spot any more suspicious calls to her mobile," Reid explained. "His theory, and for what it's worth I think it's a cracking one, is that Lindsay was being stalked and that her death was the culmination of that."

There was silence as the three officers mulled over this new idea. Reid finally spoke. "I've got Panjabi and Leece looking into her personal life a bit more closely. They were assigned primarily as family liaison officers to keep Lindsay's partner Andy abreast of any developments on the case, but that's also enabled them to gather other information that might be useful."

Gardiner turned from his vantage point at the window. "What's Lindsay's family background?"

Reid opened a file he had with him and gave the others a précis of his notes. "She was married to a George Butterworth twelve years ago, and they divorced three and a half years later. No kids. Then when she was at police training college, she met Andy Proctor. They became an item fairly soon afterwards, and had been together ever since. We did some background checks on Andy and the ex; both came up clean, except for a couple of speeding offences for Mr. Butterworth."

"Before that?" queried Gardiner.

"She was originally from Essex, and moved to Denton with her family when she was eight. Her mother died some time ago, but her father's still around and works as a chippy for the council, in housing repairs. Paul Leece has formed a good relationship with him and was able to find out quite a bit about Lindsay there." Reid closed his folder and concluded, "None of it points to any reason for her being killed – or stalked, for that matter."

"Do stalkers need a reason?" Shah asked, cynically.

"Actually, yes, they do." Gardiner took Reid and Shah by surprise with his comment and the detailed analysis that followed. After a fifteen-minute discourse on the stalker and his psyche, the two inspectors decamped across the road to the Grapes to try and clear their heads. Reid was sorely tempted to order a pint of best bitter, but fortunately Shah didn't even ask him what he wanted, and brought him a Coke instead.

Reid polished off half of his drink and decided it was just as restorative as something alcoholic. "Well, that was intense," he remarked to Shah.

Deep responded, "Next time you hear me mentioning stalkers to the super, kick me in the leg. Shoot me. Anything to not have to listen to that again." He sank his pint in one go, wiped the foam from his lips and set the pot down with an air that indicated he might only be on his first.

Reid's phone went off and he pulled it out. "Text," he announced. There was a short pause as he read it, then said, "Well, DC Strachan's been through Lindsay Allan's mobile _and_ landline records for the last six months, and has found absolutely nothing to indicate that she might have had a stalker." He closed the phone and replaced it, somewhat bad-temperedly, in his pocket, then reached for his glass.

Shah stared at him in despair. "You mean we sat through that lecture for nothing?"

"'Fraid so, Deep. Never mind." Reid looked at his watch. "Gordon Bennett, it's nearly three o'clock. I'm only back at work two days and I'm nearly full-time again. My GP would have a fit if he knew." Having downed the last of his Coke, he stood up to leave. "See you tomorrow, mate." Also at the back of his mind was a concern for Russ Grady. Now that Reid wasn't there, he might start to get cabin fever, venture out, do something stupid. Like go to a pub...

Once the thought had occurred to him he couldn't shake it out of his head, and with a growing sense of foreboding he headed straight for his local, the Arlington Arms, at the corner of London Road and Bracken Hill. His suspicions proved correct: there, propping up the bar and regaling the locals with tales of SAS derring-do, was Grady. Knowing him as he did, Reid reckoned he was well gone, and one look at mine host's resigned demeanour confirmed this. However, Reid hesitated to go over and drag Russ from the pub; if the military police came in enquiring after Grady and he'd been seen in company with Reid, it wouldn't take a genius to work out where they'd look next. As luck would have it, Grady chose that moment to pay a visit to the gents' toilets. Reid waited briefly to allow those still at the bar to start gossiping about their new drinking companion, then slipped unobserved into the bathroom.

Grady was about to greet him like a long-lost brother, but Reid clamped his hand over his friend's mouth. "Shut up and listen to me," he instructed in a menacing whisper. "You will go back out into the bar and leave. Do you understand? _Leave. Go back to my place. Speak to nobody. _Capisce?"

A mute nod signalled that his message had penetrated the alcoholic haze. Reid removed his hand. "Go," he ordered. He watched from the corridor between bathroom and bar as Grady wove his unsteady way to the exit. Fortunately there were no objections to his departure. Reid waited for a few minutes, then went outside and got into his car, where he beat the steering wheel to death for several seconds. Having taken his frustration out on an inanimate object, he felt more able to return home and deal with Grady, who with any luck had passed out on his bed and wouldn't wake up till morning. This turned out to be Reid's second accurate prediction of the day, from which fact he took absolutely no comfort whatsoever.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11**

Reid came downstairs the following morning to the smell of a cooked breakfast. _Atonement_, he thought, when he found Grady, as if he'd never touched a drop, bustling about in the kitchen and humming along to Radio 2.

"'Mornin', Tel!" came the ebullient cook's greeting. "Have a seat, it'll be ready in a jiff. Coffee?"

Alas, Reid was having none of it. "No dice, Russ. I still want to know when you're leaving," he said bluntly, toying with the paper napkin that adorned his plate (where had _these_ come from?). He stared at Grady, awaiting a response.

"Look, Terry, I know I probably had a bit too much yesterday, but…"

" 'A bit too much'?" exploded Reid. "You were off your bloody face! If I hadn't guessed where you'd be, they'd either be serving you breakfast at my nick or scraping you off the pavement somewhere. What happened to keeping a low profile in case the MPs catch up with you?" When no reply was forthcoming from the now-crestfallen Grady, Reid continued, "You've been here a week. Surely you've managed to figure out where you're going next?" The resounding silence that followed did not inspire confidence. "Well?" he insisted.

Grady sat down heavily, defeated, at the kitchen table and faced Reid. "There's nowhere, Terry. I don't have anywhere else _to_ go. You're it."

Reid's eyes narrowed in deep suspicion. "When you rocked up here you led me to believe people were practically queuing up to give you a bed for a couple of nights. Are you now telling me that I was the only person you knew who'd take you in?"

Grady gave a rueful smile. "'Fraid so, mate."

Reid stood up decisively. "Well, that changes everything. I'm calling…"

"No! Terry, I'm begging you, don't shop me!" The sheer panic and terror in Grady's voice halted Reid in his tracks.

"Give me a reason not to." Standing his ground, arms folded, it was a challenge Reid knew he could win this time round. Seeing Grady's slumped and dejected figure at the kitchen table, he sat down again to wait for an explanation.

"They'll make me go back," the runaway said, with a plaintive tone not unlike that of a reluctant schoolchild.

"Why would that be so bad?" asked Reid, dreading the answer.

Grady seemed to be mustering the courage to speak. Finally he said, in a low voice, "They were making my life hell. A living hell. You have _no idea_ what it was like."

Reid's heart sank. Here he had been, assuming his friend had broken some petty army regulation or got on the wrong side of his CO, and now it sounded as though it had been infinitely worse than he had imagined. Sitting forward, he toned down his approach.

"I've heard how bad it can be, Russ. Did you report them?"

"'Report'?" A derisive, cynical puff of amusement escaped Grady's lips. "As far as the brass are concerned, it doesn't happen in the military. 'There's no such thing as intimidation,' " he mocked_,_ in an upper-class officer's voice. He looked across at Reid, desperate and hopeful. "Promise you won't turn me in, Terry. Promise me!"

Inwardly, Reid groaned. What could he do? Would a real friend hand over someone who'd come to him for refuge, to the people he feared the most? A spark of inspiration suddenly came to him.

"We're going to get you some help," he said, with quiet determination, and went through to the living room where he switched on the laptop.

Grady had followed him. "What d'you mean?" he asked, warily, as he saw Reid begin to type.

"There've been cases in the papers about this kind of thing," explained Reid as he searched, "and I remember reading something about a support group. Here we are…." He turned the laptop around and passed it to Grady. "Try that and see if they've got anything useful. If they haven't we'll try another site. And we'll keep trying until we find someone that _will_ help, OK?"

oooOOOooo

Together, they made a plan. Grady had spoken to a very supportive and understanding advisor on the helpline. Reid had also managed to have a quick word regarding the situation of someone found sheltering a deserter. With what they learned, they were able to see a way ahead for Grady, and Reid left for his four-hour stint at Edmund Street considerably more at ease than when he had returned home the previous day.

His time flew in. The paperwork he had neglected in pursuit of the truth about Allen, Duke and Hayden could be put off no longer, and he spent his entire shift tackling it, so it was with relief and a bit of a headache that he drove home later that day. He was hardly over the threshold when the doorbell rang, and upon answering it, Reid was faced with a smartly-dressed couple whom he initially took for Jehovah's Witnesses.

"Yes?" he asked, brusquely, in an attempt to dissuade the canvassers.

"Mr. Terence Reid? My name is Captain Stuart Ross, and this is Sergeant Kay Davies." The man displayed a warrant card. "We're with the Military Police. May we come in?" he asked, gesturing past Reid.

"Oh...er, yes! Come through." Once the pair were seated in the front room, on the sofa where Charlie habitually slept, Reid found himself in a rather surreal role reversal.

The officers politely declined his offer of tea and Davies said, "We believe you served in Special Air Services Squadron D with a Corporal Russell Robert Grady?"

Reid grinned at a fond memory. "Blimey, that's going back a bit!" he exclaimed. "Yes, that's right. In the Falklands and after, till I got out." He looked hopefully at the couple, waiting for an explanation, all the while feeling rather glad that he had once upon a time taken the trouble to find out the best methods to employ when on the receiving end of an interrogation. Rule number one seemed to be the same for both questioner and suspect: "Let the other side do all the talking". Charlie wandered past Reid's feet and he petted the cat while he waited. He wasn't going to do their job for them.

"Have you had any contact with Corporal Grady since you left the service?" enquired Ross, after a lengthy awkward pause.

"Well, yes – he's been to visit me off and on over the years. And we send the usual Christmas cards," explained Reid.

Davies, the more poker-faced of the two, continued. "And when was your most recent communication from Corporal Grady?"

Reid scratched his head. "Em…probably at New Year. He rang me from some party to wish me a 'happy Hogmanay'. I'm assuming he was in Scotland at the time."

Davies made rapid note of this juicy titbit, while Ross probed further. "Did he say where in Scotland he was?"

"No…but the card I had from him last Christmas was postmarked 'Aberdeen'. I remember noticing that when it came through the door and wondering who on earth would be sending me a card from there." More hurried scribblings. Reid was beginning to enjoy himself, but he was careful not to let his guard down or become over-confident. He wasn't out of the woods yet.

Captain Ross stood up and asked abruptly, "Would you mind if we took a look around your property? That is, your home and garden, and any associated outbuildings."

Taken aback, Reid answered, "Well, yes, if you like. I'll just unlock the back door so you can go out and check the garden…and you'll want to see the shed as well?"

"Yes, please," responded Davies, putting her notebook and pen away. She waited in the kitchen while Reid opened the door for her, but Ross made his way upstairs to look there. It didn't take either of them long to complete their search – it wasn't the biggest house in Denton, Reid reflected – and they reconvened in the living room, unable to completely hide their disappointment.

"Everything OK, then?" Reid enquired. He was standing in the middle of the lounge, hands in pockets, trying not to appear at all smug or gleeful at their failure to find anything or anyone of interest.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Reid. We appreciate your willingness to co-operate, and we apologise for any intrusion." Ross produced a card from his top pocket and handed it over. "I'd ask that if you _do_ hear from Corporal Grady at all, whether by letter, phone, or in person, you get in touch with us right away. It's most important."

Reid frowned. "He's not in any trouble, is he?" The MPs exchanged brief but furtive glances.

"As I say, sir, if you could let us know the minute you hear from him..."

"Yes, absolutely." Reid feigned worried distraction – convincingly, he hoped. "Um, let me show you out." He noted to his satisfaction that both officers had collected a fine coating of ginger-and-white cat-hairs on their once-immaculate trousers from sitting in Charlie's seat.

For the next 24 hours, Reid did, said, and thought nothing about Russell Grady, because he knew there was a strong possibility that the MPs were either still watching the house, had bugged the place, or both. It was a good job he and Grady had acted when they did.

The deal had been that Grady would seek one-to-one counselling from the Forces Helpline centre in London, and that they would mediate between him and his regimental headquarters while he went through the process of giving himself up. Legal assistance would be provided to make sure that Grady wasn't simply returned to the situation in which he'd been suffering.

The next question was where Grady could live in London. Reid had a number of contacts down there but they were all either family members or colleagues from the force – with one notable exception. Tom Boydeau, Sheila's younger brother, was neither a relative nor a copper, and Reid reckoned that he had a couple of favours to call in with the younger man. He also knew that Tom and his girlfriend were looking for a lodger to take the spare room of the house they'd moved into eighteen months before; Grady's stay there might be a short one, but Reid could afford to cover his rent for the time it took for the wheels of justice to grind through their due process.

After some thought, and a brief struggle with his conscience, Reid had rung Tom and explained the situation. As he'd expected, Tom was only too happy to help, although Reid had been forced to swear both Tom and Grady to total silence about Russ's connections to himself. If Sheila found out the truth neither he nor Tom would live to see next Christmas.

To avoid any future repercussions for Reid in Denton, he and Grady had agreed that his stay at Bracken Hill had never happened. If asked about his visit to the Arlington Arms, Grady would simply claim that he had been in the area to look Reid up, but had got plastered and lost his address. There would certainly be no shortage of witnesses on that score.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 12**

"Terry? I've got some information that I think you might be interested in. Fancy popping along to my office just now?"

With a shake of his head and a smile, Reid replaced the receiver and left his office to visit Superintendent Gardiner. The satisfaction he got from working with such a reasonable, easy-to-like senior officer had not been diminished by the time he'd spent at Edmund Street. He knew, too, that there would most probably be at least a cup of tea in it for him, if not some freshly-baked scones as well.

The aroma that met him as he entered the super's room told him he was 100% on the money. After they had made short work of the still-warm baking, Gardiner sat back with a satisfied sigh.

"Well, that's set me up for the rest of the morning," he announced. "Now. Since we wanted to keep this business between ourselves, I've been doing a spot of personal research on Eric Hayden. Care to hear what I've uncovered?"

"Yes indeed," answered Reid, sitting forward expectantly.

"Nothing a-bloody-tall," was the reply.

Reid was gobsmacked. "Nothing?" he repeated in dismay.

"Not a light. Well, other than that there is an Eric Hayden, MRCVS, with two offices in the Denton area."

"MRCVS? What's that, some kind of medical qualification?" Reid asked, puzzled.

"Pretty much. He's a veterinary surgeon," explained Gardiner. "And that's it. So, what do you reckon? Someone with the same name, or using the vet's identity? Or just a red herring Wilkins has thrown your way to keep you happy?"

Reid frowned, paused, then suggested, "Or it _is_ the vet, and he's managed to stay off the radar until now."

"If that's the case, he must have very loyal runners, is all I can say." The super seemed sceptical. "However, as it's a possibility, no matter how remote, we have to look into it. I've collated all the available information on Hayden – DVLA, council tax, previous addresses, that sort of thing. Will you get on with the investigation, Terry? Remembering our conversation about as few people being involved as possible, of course." The super gave an encouraging smile as Reid got up to go.

"Yes, sir, right away." Reid felt an excitement surge through him. His sixth sense for spotting villains sometimes had this effect, although it wasn't completely foolproof. There had been occasions where it had led him down several side roads before finally getting to the solution. But, two weeks on from his injury, it felt good to be back full-time and focussing on his work instead of being trapped at home.

As he left Gardiner's office with the file on Hayden, his thoughts were bouncing off the inside of his head, organising themselves into tasks and to-do lists. He was able to quickly commit them all to paper (he still had no time for computers when it came to this sort of thing), then ponder who, if anybody, else he should tell.

Panjabi. Hmmm. She was a bit unpredictable of late. That business with Ferguson's hand, however deserved, had been too over-the-top for his liking.

What about Leece? Too inexperienced. And he couldn't keep his gob shut. Wainwright might be a possibility, but he was already out on a case…damn. This was turning out to be the most difficult task of them all. He found himself wishing, and not for the first time, that Sheila was at Edmund Street. Theirs had been a completely professional relationship, and their mutual trust and respect had formed a very strong bond between them. He would have given a year's pension to be able to take her with him on this one.

He shook his head to try and focus again. There was no point in wishing for something he couldn't have. End of. Right, where was the Yellow Pages? He pulled it out of the bottom drawer, chucked it onto the desk and started flicking through the pages until he found "Veterinary Surgeons" listed. He saw at once the entry he wanted.

**ERIC HAYDEN, BVMS, MRCVS**

14 Queensberry Road

Denton

Open Surgeries & Appointments

24 Hour Emergency Service

Reid copied this information into his notebook. Then, uncharacteristically, he decided to leave it to fate and take a punt on whoever was in the squad room. He walked across the hall, resolved to choose the first officer he came across, and together they would go over to Hayden's and see what they could find out.

It was Ferguson. Reid stopped and barely managed to keep himself from gawping in disbelief.

"Sir." The sergeant stood, stoically, almost to attention as Reid entered the CID office.

"What the…I'm sorry, sergeant…er…why are you here?"

Ferguson coughed to suppress a smile. "I've been seconded again, sir. I believe there's a memo to that effect on your desk."

Reid could feel the unfortunate negative sentiments rising within him once more, but braced himself and banished them.

"Well, that's a turn-up for the books," he finally said. "You're still with SOCA?"

"Yes, but Superintendent Gardiner had mentioned to my guv'nor that you were a bit short-handed while DC Duke's on leave" – here Reid wondered if Ferguson knew the full story about Duke now – "and she suggested I help out for a bit. If that's all right with you," added Ferguson, somewhat deferentially.

"Give me a minute." Reid turned on his heel, went back to his office, and closed the door. He sat down and rummaged among the pile of mail on his desk, found the memo Ferguson had referred to, and cursed quietly but spectacularly. The sheet of paper found the waste-basket, Reid's head sank into his hands, and a groan escaped his lips. The problem wasn't that he was irrevocably committed to team up with the first detective he found – he could easily change his mind about that. But he realised that Gardiner had deliberately placed Ferguson in the office at a time when he knew Reid would be looking for someone to assist him, and the memo was couched in such terms as to leave him in no doubt that it was Ferguson he was to work with. He'd been set up.

oooOOOooo

It was the sergeant's turn to be stunned when Reid walked back in to the squad room and told him to get his coat, he'd pulled. When Ferguson didn't move, Reid barked, "Come on! What's the matter with you? We've got a potential suspect to check out." Having delivered this irresistible invitation, he strode out in the direction of the stairs. Ferguson snatched his jacket from the peg behind the door and jogged to catch up with his DI. A disgruntled Panjabi, unseen by both men, watched from her office as the door closed behind them.

As they made their way to Reid's car – "We'll take mine, sergeant, I have no wish to meet your choice of vehicle" – Ferguson asked where they were going.

They got into the Vectra but Reid didn't turn on the ignition straight away. Instead, he looked at Ferguson. "How much do you know about Billy Duke?" he asked.

The detective sergeant took a deep breath, and gave a succinct explanation of the facts as he was aware of them. They pretty much tallied with what Reid knew, and he realised that given Ferguson's usual job, he had quite likely been aware of Duke's full story before anyone else at Edmund Street, but sworn to secrecy about it.

"Right then," said Reid, starting the engine. "Well, as you discovered, Duke's relationship with Vince Wilkins went so far as to almost get him the name of one individual who was, single-handedly, responsible for most of the drug dealing in this area. Then I ran into the pair of them one night…"

"Yes, I heard about that, sir, sorry about the head," Ferguson put in.

"Thank you. The upshot was that I seemed to have persuaded Wilkins that he should text me the name of this drug baron, because a few days later, hey presto, I get a text that says, 'Eric Hayden' - just the name, exactly as I'd told Wilkins to do."

Ferguson looked intrigued. "So we're going to check this Eric Hayden out, are we?"

For once Reid was impressed, Ferguson's quickness taking him by surprise. "Exactly. Mind you, the only Eric Hayden in this manor is a vet who's never broken the law in his life, as far as I can tell. However, check it out we must. And here we are," he announced, as they drove into the vet's surgery car park.

The opening of the front door set off a buzzer as Reid and Ferguson entered the premises. A middle-aged woman in a white coat appeared from an office behind the reception desk.

"Good morning, can I help you?" she asked politely.

"We'd like a word with Mr. Hayden," answered Reid, and produced his warrant card. "I'm Detective Inspector Reid from Edmund Street police station, and this is Detective Sergeant Ferguson."

The receptionist looked alarmed, but didn't make any excuses or protest about how busy her boss was, as Reid found was often the case in such situations. He found it best not presume it meant anything about the suspect's innocence or guilt.

A slim, dark-haired man in his thirties appeared from the office, extended his hand to shake Reid's, and announced, "Eric Hayden. How can I help you?"

"Perhaps it would be best if we spoke somewhere more private," Reid suggested.

"Certainly," agreed the vet, and made his way towards a door in the furthest corner of the reception area. "Come in, have a seat." Reid half-expected an offer of tea, but thankfully none was forthcoming. His private _b__ête noir_ was having unpleasant brews thrust upon him at every possible opportunity.

The area they were shown into was obviously a staff room. The three men sat down in armchairs, surrounding a low table. Hayden looked curiously at the detectives but said nothing. Reid made a mental note of this familiar tactic as he began his spiel.

"Mr. Hayden, we're just making some routine enquiries in the area..."

"Regarding what?" the vet butted in, abruptly.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose that," answered Reid, deliberately verging on the pompous. He sensed that the way to get this man to open up was to provoke him into believing his privacy had been invaded. He continued, "Can I ask how long you've been in practice in Denton?"

"You can. I set up here two years ago, and have two offices, this one and the one in Stocksley village."

"You moved here from Nottingham, I believe," stated Reid. His remark had the desired effect.

Hayden's forehead creased into a deep frown. "Yes, I did. Look, where is all this going? Am I under suspicion or something?"

Ferguson spoke, and if Reid was surprised, he didn't show it. "Did you go to university in Nottingham?"

The vet regarded Ferguson with ill-concealed hostility. "No, not that it's any of your business. I trained at Wolverhampton University."

Ferguson made a bit of a show of writing this down, and Reid realised that he too had cottoned on to the best strategy to use, and was doing his part to rile their suspect.

Hayden seemed almost at the limits of his patience. "Listen, I have clients to attend to. If you've quite finished quizzing me about the thrilling aspects of my life before I came to Denton, I'll bid you good day." He started to get up.

"Please sit down, Mr. Hayden. We haven't finished yet." Reid's suddenly much more authoritarian, icy tone and laser-like blue stare brought the vet back into line, as well as a sense of foreboding into the room. "I'd like to go over the past two years with you in some detail. Now, your current address is 27 The Meadows, Stocksley, is that correct?"

"Yes," came the reply, through gritted teeth.

"And prior to that you resided at Flat 4B, Stanmore Road, Denton?"

"And before that, 108 Redhill Avenue, Nottingham, and when I was at university I lived in the student halls of residence. Would you like to see my birth certificate as well?" seethed the vet.

"No need, sir, we have access to that already," dissembled Reid smoothly.

"This is a bloody outrage!" Hayden shot to his feet, red in the face. "What are we living in, a police state? Here I am, trying to make an honest living, serving the community, and what do I get? People poking their noses in to try and find something that isn't there! Why don't you get out there and arrest some actual criminals for a change?" He smoothed his hair back into place and there was a silence broken only by his heavy breathing.

"Please take a seat, sir," instructed Ferguson. "All we are doing is asking a few simple questions. You've got nothing to hide, have you?"

Hayden sank back into his chair, glaring at the sergeant. "Hide? Like what?"

"Well, that would be difficult for us to tell if you were hiding it, sir," the deadpan Ferguson replied, and Reid succeeded in controlling the burst of laughter that wanted to explode out of his mouth. Hayden continued to stare in contempt at Ferguson.

Deciding it was time to change tack, Reid said, "We'll need to see a list of your clients, please."

As expected, this threw Hayden into total confusion. "What? Why?"

Reid spoke to Ferguson. "Ask the receptionist to provide you with copies of all current and past customer records," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," replied the sergeant, and left the room.

"Now just you wait!" yelled Hayden, and rushed out into the reception area after Ferguson. "Norma, don't give him anything! They don't have a search warrant so they're not entitled to see anything at all!" Turning to Reid, who had also come into the outer room, he bellowed, "I want you both out of my surgery _now_!" and, as if there was any doubt as to where the exit was, he pointed fiercely at it.

The two officers complied without further ado. As Reid span the tyres on the way out of the car park, Ferguson said, "So that'll be a search warrant, then," to which Reid replied, "Uh-huh," and the sergeant flipped open his phone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 13**

Reid hadn't yet encountered Gardiner in a bad temper, so he was caught on the back foot to be met, upon returning to CID, by an irritated superintendent pacing up and down. On seeing Reid, he launched into one of his trademark lectures.

"For goodness' sake, Terry, what have you been up to? I've just had two calls, one from the mayor's office and another from a local councillor, complaining that I've got a senior detective on the loose and harassing innocent members of the community! When I asked you to check out Eric Hayden, I didn't think for a minute that you'd go in with all guns blazing!" He paused, apparently to allow Reid to respond, because when that didn't happen, he demanded, "Well?"

Not quite able to tell the man to calm down and behave, as he wasn't actually shouting at him, Reid decided instead to keep his cool and refuse to be goaded into a response. He sat down and laid his notebook on the desk in front of him. This action invited Gardiner to sit too, and it worked.

Reid cleared his throat and began to speak in a measured, even voice. "Sergeant Ferguson and I interviewed Eric Hayden and found him to be hostile, obstructive and generally resentful of any questions that were put to him. And I can assure you that the hardest question we asked him was how long he'd lived in Denton. He was very defensive and suspicious of our motives, which would seem to indicate that he actually did have something worth keeping from us." Reid levelled his gaze to meet Gardiner's. _Go on, argue that one_, he seemed to say.

"Yes, well, that all sounds perfectly reasonable," replied the super with a sigh. "I must admit, I've never been in the position before where I've had to field calls from local politicians, especially calls that were verging on abusive. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken that out on you."

"No problem, sir." Reid was thick-skinned enough to let such errors of judgement go, and sensitive enough to see when someone was under unaccustomed pressure. And to be fair to Gardiner, he was the un-angriest angry boss he'd ever had. "Sergeant Ferguson is in the process of getting a search warrant for Hayden's home and work premises, along with any vehicles on them." At the super's raised eyebrows, Reid elaborated on his reasoning. "When we asked to see a list of Hayden's staff, he panicked and started yelling at his secretary to give us nothing, as we didn't have a warrant."

Gardiner's eyes widened even more at this revelation. "Then let's hit all the warrant locations at the same time," he said decisively, and rose to his feet, adding, "If anyone's looking for me, I'll be on the phone to the town hall."

oooOOOooo

"Yes, I'll take questions now," nodded Gardiner at the journalist calling something out at him.

"Simon Pinder, _Evening Mail_...Superintendent, we've been given to understand this is the most significant haul of drugs ever found in Denton. Can you tell us any more about how the heroin was discovered?"

"We were acting on intelligence received. We often receive information from members of the public which leads to criminal activity being stopped, and, indeed, arrests and convictions...as we hope this will. The lady in the blue blouse..." Gardiner pointed at a woman who had stood to ask her question.

"Do you think this successful seizure of illegal substances will have a significant impact on the drugs problem in Denton?"

"Absolutely. It is our belief that the individual on whose property the drugs were found is a significant player in the procurement and distribution of heroin and crack cocaine in the Denton area, and by removing him from the supply chain we have severely disrupted the criminal activities of many more individuals, as well as protecting the community from this plague on society."

Ferguson leaned slightly towards Reid and murmured out of the corner of his mouth, "You've got to admit, he does do a good press conference."

Reid was leaning on the back wall of the room, arms folded, and he gave a wry grin and nodded in agreement. "Finding all that uncut heroin stored in plain sight beside the dog powders didn't hurt. Just a pity Hayden realised what we were going to do and did a runner, but you can't have everything and he can't run forever. All his escape routes are blocked, so he'll keep till he bobs to the surface again. Now all we have to do is find the link to Billy Duke, and identify which of Hayden's goons murdered Lindsay Allan."

"A doddle," answered Ferguson, pulling a face that implied exactly the opposite. "I'll go back upstairs and help the others."

"Where are we up to?" asked Reid, turning to speak to the departing sergeant.

"DC Leece is getting on with matching the list of Hayden's employees with the PNC. Sergeant Panjabi is still checking their statements – the ones we've got so far, that is – and I'm going to give Wainwright and Strachan a hand with going through all the evidence seized from Hayden's place. Well, places."

"Right, then, don't let me stop you. The super'll be wanting a word with me once he's done with this lot."

"OK, guv." Ferguson left, and Reid, in a mixture of amusement and surprise, reflected that this was the first time that the sergeant had addressed him as anything but "sir", let alone something as familiar and affectionate as "guv". The work they'd done together interviewing, investigating and bloody nearly apprehending Eric Hayden had, if nothing else, created the beginnings of a proper working relationship between the two of them. It was frustrating that Hayden had slipped the net, but it had hardly been a surprise. Nailing someone who'd succeeded in staying so completely unsuspected for so long would always have been a challenge. And, satisfyingly, they'd taken his empire apart; wherever Hayden was he was starting again from scratch. That would do for Reid, until he caught up with the slippery bastard.

Reid's subsequent discussion with Gardiner covered the complete lack of success in identifying any connection between Hayden and Billy Duke, or Lindsay Allan, for that matter. "Mind you, it's early days yet," observed Gardiner. "What's your take on it, Terry? Think Duke was in hock to Hayden or one of his men?"

"Not sure, sir. We haven't even found Vince Wilkins' name in any of Hayden's paperwork or computer files. So, how he knew about him remains a bit of a mystery, although if he was working for a rival drug supplier it might be to his advantage to shop the competition."

Gardiner's mouth turned down at the corners and his eyebrows rose, in an expression of agreement and thoughtfulness. "Interesting possibility. What are the alternatives?"

Reid's outstretched legs crossed at the ankles as he sat back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Well, there's always the chance that Allan's death had nothing to do with Duke at all. Up till now we've been so focussed on that specific line of enquiry that we've lost sight of the fact it might not be the right one."

"Takes a lot of guts to admit you might have been barking up the wrong tree, Terry," replied the super, impressed with Reid's candour.

"No point in persisting with something just for the sake of it, especially when there might be other avenues to pursue," observed Reid. "It could be worth having another word with Wilkins – if he hasn't gone to ground, that is. Ask him how he knew about Hayden. And I think I'll take Ferguson round to visit Duke, see if we can get anything else out of him."

"Excellent," smiled Gardiner. Reid wasn't sure if the super's approval was of his investigative tactics, or his involvement of Ferguson. He very much wanted to ask the super's reasons for his interest in the sergeant. Not that he minded so much, now; Ferguson had certainly been showing his mettle since returning to Edmund Street without his SOCA hat. If he had merely been playing the part of an ingratiating twerp, he had done it to perfection.

oooOOOooo

The scene at Billy Duke's home was in stark contrast to Reid's previous visit. All the curtains were closed, leaving the house in a state of permanent twilight, and the place was in general disarray. Duke had let his personal appearance go too, Reid noted, as they entered the dismal living room. Never really one for small talk, he got straight to the point.

"Billy, we've been trying to get hold of Vince Wilkins, but no joy so far. Do you have any idea where he might be, an address or anything? We've tried all his usual watering holes."

Miserably, Duke shook his head. "Haven't a clue. I haven't seen him since the night you saw us at the Station Tavern. Or heard from him, either," he added, when Reid looked as if he might ask about phone calls.

Ferguson was glancing around the room, trying not to make his distaste for the untidiness that surrounded him too obvious. "D'you know an Eric Hayden?" he asked, taking Reid slightly by surprise; he had intended to be the one to ask that question.

There was no recognition on Duke's face as he answered, "Never heard of him. Who is he?"

"Just a local face we're investigating," replied Reid, non-committally, and changed the subject. "Any word from Val?"

"She's coming down today to collect the last of her stuff, and then that'll be that. I'm gonna have to put the house on the market; can't afford to keep it, what with her gone and me out of a job." The morose words had scarcely left Duke's lips when a key was heard in the door, and Val came in, accompanied by a younger woman who could only be her sister. Both seemed taken aback to find Reid and Ferguson there.

Terry stood up and greeted them courteously, then asked, "Need a hand with anything?"

This seemed to throw them even more, but Val managed to say, "No, we're fine, it's just a few boxes of clothes and things, and my dad's got his van outside. Thanks anyway." The pair disappeared upstairs and soon came down again, fully laden. Reid took a box from Val's sister, despite her protestations, and carried it out to the white Transit that sat at the kerb.

Val's father eyed him somewhat suspiciously as he placed the box in the back of the van. A brief muttered explanation from his daughters cleared the matter up, and they allowed Reid and Ferguson to load the rest of the goods.

"Thanks, Mr. Reid," said Val as they prepared to leave. She paused, uncertain, and Ferguson tactfully went back into the house. "You know Billy's gone to pieces, don't you," she declared, sadly. "I can't believe it's the same man. This whole business has just destroyed him."

Aching to say that his family breaking up hadn't exactly helped, either, Reid bit his tongue and nodded sagely.

"Come on, Val," urged her father, from the driver's seat. "If we don't get going now we won't be back in time for the kids coming home."

"OK, dad." She hopped into the remaining passenger seat and the van pulled away.

As Ferguson rejoined him on the pavement, Reid shook his head sadly. "Stupid waste," he remarked, with not a little resentment. "Been there, done it, got the access agreement to prove it."

"I'll lay odds you didn't do anything criminal or lose your job," opined Ferguson sincerely.

A cynical twist tugged at Reid's mouth. "Remind me never to take betting tips from you," he retorted, and got into his car, leaving Ferguson with a puzzled frown. "You coming along?" Reid called from behind the wheel. "Or do you want to stay and help clean the house?"

With a derisive snort, Ferguson was in the car beside him. "What next?" he asked.

Reid drummed the steering wheel thoughtfully. "Re-do the background checks," he announced at last. "Lindsay Allan's partners, her family, friends...same for Duke. It's just possible we might see a connection, now that we know about Hayden." He put the car in first and they set off back to the nick.

Six hours later they were back at Carlyle Road, part of a mêlée of blue lights and emergency sirens. An unconscious Billy Duke was being loaded into the back of an ambulance, and uniform were taking statements from the neighbours. Reid and Ferguson joined Panjabi at the front of the house.

"He's lucky to be alive, guv," Tina informed him, pointedly avoiding looking at Ferguson. "Apparently a couple of grunts with iron bars set on him as he was locking up for the night, but a neighbour heard the commotion and scared them off. Not before they gave him a good going-over, though."

"So I see." Reid grimaced at the large bloodstains on the front step and path. "Thanks, Tina. You accompany Duke to the hospital, find out what the doctors think, then get back and report to Gardiner. We'll take over here." Panjabi almost opened her mouth to protest and then thought better of it, given the circumstances and her DI's level stare. She turned away to speak to the paramedics and Reid caught Ferguson's eye before he casually wandered a little way from the rest of the group. He looked up into the evening sky and drew in a deep breath as the sergeant strolled over to stand beside him. "What d'you think, Ferguson – are we getting too close to Hayden's organisation, and this is some kind of warning?"

"That did cross my mind, sir. Bit of a coincidence if it isn't."

Reid snarled. "I bloody hate coincidences."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 14**

Reid arrived at Denton General Infirmary with a feeling of foreboding. Panjabi had reported back as instructed to say that Duke had been taken straight to the ICU in a critical condition and that the doctors were working to stabilise him. Reid had left Gardiner, back at the station, assembling all available officers to reassure them that there was no evidence they were dealing with a police serial killer.

_And Duke's not even dead_, surmised Reid, as he walked towards the ICU nurses' station. _Yet_.

He caught sight of Valerie Duke, her father, and a woman who must be her mother, in a huddle near one of the intensive care rooms. The door was closed and Reid's heart sank even further. At that moment, a doctor emerged and spoke earnestly and animatedly to the family waiting in the hallway. Val clutched her chest, looking very relieved, and her mother put a comforting arm around her shoulder. They thanked the doctor, Val almost in tears, and the two women walked into the room where Reid assumed Billy must be.

Reid approached Val's father. "Things looking a bit more positive?" he asked.

"Seem to be. He's had a narrow escape, by the sound of things." The older man looked at Reid appraisingly. "Val appreciates the way you've not taken sides, just tried to help her get on with things. Mind you," he added, with a somewhat pessimistic air, "the way she's going on about Billy now, you wouldn't think they'd ever had a cross word between them. The reality's a lot different to that."

"Things like this sometimes bring people closer together," agreed Reid. "Although it didn't do my marriage any good when I ended up in hospital like this; my ex was gone, and not coming back for anything."

This unaccustomed sharing of details of his personal life left Reid feeling somewhat vulnerable, but if Val's father thought it odd, he didn't say. Rather, he extended his hand and shook Reid's.

"Michael Sommerville. And you're Terry Reid, yes?"

"That's right. You folks must have had a bit of a scare this evening."

"Val was beside herself. We'd only just got home with her from the shops when a policeman came round to tell us what had happened. We got straight in the car and back here again."

This reminded Reid of his conversation with Duke the previous day. "She's moved to Derby now, hasn't she?" he asked.

"Yes; my wife Barbara and I, our other daughter Ginny, and _her_ family, all live in Derby. So it just made sense for Val to move to be nearer us. It's been a new lease of life, having her and the kids around again."

Reid smiled companionably. "Well, I'd best get back to the station and let the superintendent know that Billy's out of danger." Valerie Duke suddenly appeared in the corridor and laid her hand on Reid's arm.

"Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Reid. They say it'll be a long road but Billy should be fine, no lasting damage done. Always said he had a thick skull," she finished, with a rueful smile. She turned to her father. "Dad, I need to have a word with you...about moving our stuff back to Denton..." She started to lead Sommerville down the hallway, but Reid could see the man stiffen and begin to argue with his daughter. _Why couldn't he just be happy that his daughter had discovered she still loved her husband before it was too late? _Shaking his head in sad disbelief, Reid made his way back to the car and returned to Edmund Street.

oooOOOooo

Deep Shah was sitting in the canteen when Reid joined him, tea in hand, and asked: "How did it go with the super?"

Shah gave an uncertain shrug. "I dunno, Terry. I mean, two police officers get attacked within a matter of weeks, and Gardiner tries to tell the troops that nobody's out to get them..." He left the implication hanging in the air like an apostrophe.

"Just because someone's out to get you doesn't mean you shouldn't be paranoid," remarked Reid into his mug.

"Indeed not," agreed Shah. "Still, it's certainly had a salutary effect on the morale around here – not his talk, that is, but the threat of violence."

"And on the level of activity. You'd think it was midday round here rather than the graveyard shift, the way everyone's rushing about," Reid observed, looking around the canteen at all the comings and goings.

Shah gathered his dishes onto a tray and got up to go. "I've got half-a-dozen officers waiting to see me about this...no doubt they'll want reassuring, which is going to be some kind of miracle, given that I've no access to a crystal ball."

"Good luck with that," sympathised Reid, finishing his tea and adding the mug to Shah's tray. He was lost in thought, because something had struck him while Shah was talking, something about communication...he made his way back to his office and flicked through a list of phone numbers, then lifted the receiver.

"Hello, this is Detective Inspector Reid from Denton Constabulary, based at Edmund Street. I'd like to speak to the duty sergeant, please. Thanks."

He waited only a few moments and then a warm Scottish voice said, "Sergeant Williamson here. How can I help you, DI Reid?"

"Ah, sergeant. I'm trying to find out which of your officers visited a Valerie Duke this evening to tell her that her husband had been taken to hospital. He's one of our officers here."

There was the briefest of pauses, and then Williamson replied, "I can easily answer your question, inspector. None of my officers made any such calls today - or in the last week, for that matter. I personally take responsibility for calling service families, and I can assure you I have never contacted nor heard of Mrs. Duke or her husband."

Reid drew in a breath and said, "Thank you very much for that information, sergeant. I appreciate you taking the time to speak to me."

"And I appreciate you not asking me if I'm sure, inspector. You wouldn't believe the number of times I'm asked that in a day," came the dry response.

"Probably not," chuckled Reid. "Thanks again." He hung up and sank back in his chair, deep in contemplation once more. Now he had to figure out who had told Val Duke about Billy being assaulted, and why.

oooOOOooo

He shared his findings with Ferguson the following morning over bacon butties and coffee. The detective sergeant was having a hard time keeping up.

"So somebody has Billy Duke beaten to within an inch of his life, and then goes to the trouble of sending someone round to tell his family, but in the guise of a policeman? That doesn't make sense, guv; surely the whole point of informing them is _part_ of the threat. If it had been me, I'd have made sure they knew I was responsible for the attack when I visited them."

"And risk having Val call a real policeman? Hmmm..." Reid mulled that one over as he finished his roll and licked greasy fingers. Ferguson wearily handed him a paper napkin, which he accepted with a wary eye. "What are the alternatives?" Reid continued, after a swig of coffee, and began ticking off reasons: "That it was somebody genuine, but the sarge at Derby nick wasn't aware of it; that it was somebody from down here who just happened to be passing Val's house and had heard about Billy over the radio..." He tailed off, unable to think of any other options.

"...or that it didn't actually happen," supplied Ferguson, looking surprised at his own words.

Reid stared in amazement. "Ye gods. You're right! We've only Michael Sommerville's word for it that somebody came to the house. Or he only has Val's word...depending on who's supposed to have answered the door..." Like a shot, Reid was on his feet and grabbing his jacket on the way out of his office. "Let's get down to the hospital and see if Clan Sommerville can shed any light on the subject."

The two were rewarded, after a twenty-minute wait, with Valerie Duke and her mother arriving to visit Billy just before 10 o'clock. Reid engineered it so that they appeared to bump into each other by chance in the foyer; the last thing he wanted was to spook any of the family into thinking he was watching them.

"How's Billy this morning?" Reid enquired, after the usual pleasantries had been exchanged.

Climbing the stairs eagerly, Val spoke to him over her shoulder. "He's had a good night," she replied, "and the doctor's very pleased with his progress. The first 24 hours are always crucial in these kinds of cases."

By now they were nearing Billy's room, and Barbara Sommerville said to her daughter, "You go on in, love. I'll keep these gentlemen company." She obviously believed that they were there purely out of concern for her son-in-law. She sat down in the corridor, and Reid took the chair beside her, while Ferguson strolled up to the nurses' station to see what he could find out there.

Reid, grabbing the golden opportunity, dived straight in. "You must have had a real scare last night when you got the news."

Valerie's mother nodded in fervent agreement. "Oh, and how! I'll never forget Michael's face when he came into the living room. 'There's a policeman at the door,' he said. 'Billy's been attacked and is being taken to hospital.' I thought Val was going to faint. Well, we called Ginny and she came round to watch the kids, and the three of us got in the car and drove straight here. We expected the worst."

In devious mode, Reid asked, "Didn't the policeman offer to take you, or even give you an escort to the hospital?"

Mrs. Sommerville paused, recollecting, then said, "I never thought to ask. In fact, by the time we were leaving, he had gone. I didn't get a chance to thank him for coming to tell us in person."

Treading carefully lest he arouse her suspicions, Reid continued, "That _was_ good of him. Quite often nowadays you just get a phone call. Derby police station must have better service than Denton." He grinned pleasantly, and was gratified when Mrs. Sommerville smiled back and patted him on the arm.

"Ah, but you've been so kind, here at the hospital last night and again this morning – and helping Val move her things, too. Yes, Michael told me about that!" she added, and for a split second Reid thought she was going to tweak his face affectionately. Feeling that he'd got about as far down this road as he wanted to go, he edged away a little.

Mrs. Sommerville was obviously not the one who had come up with the story about the policeman coming to call. He must make absolutely sure, though, so as Valerie Duke came out of her husband's room he stood respectfully and said, "We were just saying how efficient the Derby police were to send a man round to your house last night."

Val nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, weren't they! And in all the panic I never got to say thank you, either. Dad was the one he spoke to."

"That's what I've been telling Mr. Reid," put in her mother. "Perhaps we should write them a letter to say thanks." She turned to Reid. "Could you find out the name of the officer who came? Then we'd know who to send it to."

Without a trace of irony, Reid assured her he would make it his business to get the name of the policeman, and mentally made note that his next enquiry regarding the elusive informant would be directed at Michael Sommerville. "Is your father going to be coming today, too?" he asked Val politely.

"Oh, I expect so. He stayed behind to help get the kids out to school this morning, and then he's got some banking to do, but after that I should imagine he'll be coming, won't he, mum?"

"Well, give him my best when you see him," smiled Reid, who fully intended to speak to him first, "and of course Billy too."

Something suddenly occurred to Val. "Oh, would you like to come in and see him for a minute, inspector?" She stepped across to open the door to Billy's room.

Reid was flattered, but said, "I think it would be less stressful for him if just his family visited for the time being. But thanks all the same. Excuse me." He turned and walked over to where Ferguson was standing waiting for him, and leaned over the desk to speak to one of the nurses. "Do you have Mr. Duke's personal effects?" he asked her, to Ferguson's surprise, and upon seeing her reluctance, showed her his warrant card. Without any further demur, she pulled a clear plastic bag out of a drawer at her feet and placed it on the desk. Reid saw what he was looking for at once and extricated a mobile phone. "Perfect," he muttered, and with a smile bore it off triumphantly to the car park.

"Guv?" asked Ferguson, puzzled, running to keep up with Reid, who struggled with the phone, swore, handed it to Ferguson, and ordered, "Find me Duke's father-in-law's number in that."

"Nothing under D for Dad...ah, here it is: Mike."

"Call it," directed Reid, as they got into his car.

"It's ringing," Ferguson announced, whereupon Reid put out his hand for the device.

"Hello, Mr. Sommerville? Yes, it's Detective Inspector Reid from Denton here...no, nothing to worry about, he's doing fine. I just wanted to check something with you...yes, the name of the police officer who came to your home yesterday evening to inform you about Billy...no? Well, even a description – your wife and daughter are most anxious to pass on their thanks and they've asked me to find out who he was...I see...perhaps his rank, if he was in uniform? Ah, plain clothes. Well, never mind, I'm sure I'll be able to find out by speaking to someone at your local police station...thank you. Goodbye." Reid pressed the end-call button somewhat savagely. "Lying toerag," he declared with conviction. "I'm starting to think it wasn't Hayden _or_ Wilkins who attacked Billy Duke. Sommerville is up to his neck in this. There never _was_ an officer at his house, Ferguson, you were dead right about that. You should have heard the panic creeping into his voice when he realised I was going to talk to someone at Derby nick."

"Not realising you already had," said Ferguson.

"And am about to again," added Reid, "to ask them to keep an eye on Sommerville. He's as iffy as a nine-bob note. That's a pre-decimal reference you wouldn't get," he added sarcastically, seeing Ferguson's confused expression.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 15**

Reid had made a list on the whiteboard in his office. It read:

Sommerville's mobile phone and bank records - PANJABI

Ports alert - WAINWRIGHT

Liaise with Derby – FERGUSON

Council CCTV footage – STRACHAN

Aside from the wisecracks about it starting to look like a list of Scottish football players, it represented the galvanising of CID into frantic activity. The identification of a solid suspect was the best news they'd had in more than three weeks since Lindsay Allan's death, and all were anxious to do their bit. Not that they'd been sitting on their hands in the intervening time, but with Hayden on the run and Wilkins still missing there had been no-one to question, and no promising leads. Reid and Ferguson's discovery of Michael Sommerville's one lie had split the case wide open.

Ferguson stuck his head round the door and announced, "Derby on the phone. Inspector O'Brien to speak to you."

"Thanks," said Reid, picking up his extension and answering, "DI Reid here."

"Hello, Inspector Reid, this is Inspector Donna O'Brien from Derby Central. I've got some information for you about Michael Sommerville," came the reply.

"Great, fire away." Reid grabbed his pen and prepared to take notes.

"Well, I wanted to tell you in person rather than fax it over," began O'Brien, "plus I can answer any questions you might have. First off, with what you gave us on Sommerville's finances, we were able to interview his bank manager about his most recent transactions, and also got hold of some in-house CCTV footage of his last visit, which was earlier today."

"Excellent!" was Reid's pleased response.

"In the last week there's apparently been some unusual activity with his account – he's withdrawn a very large sum, £75k to be exact, in cash. I think the manager was quite relieved that someone had come to ask about it, because it had been flagged up by the cashier who dealt with Sommerville at the time. And then he showed up this morning to clean out the rest."

Reid had been pondering the likely reasons for this as O'Brien talked, and now said, "So not only has he possibly paid someone off, it also sounds as if he might be thinking of disappearing for a bit; just as well we've alerted the airports and ferry terminals, and the Passport Office."

"Definitely. The other thing we came up with was a firearms licence in Sommerville's name." The inspector paused to let this sink in, and Reid felt himself go cold all over, just as he had on hearing of Lindsay Allan's shooting. O'Brien continued, "On the basis of that discovery, we're going to pay Mr. Sommerville a visit to check up on his firearms security, and that the conditions under which he originally applied for the licence remain the same." The unspoken implication was that they would also be examining any guns they found for recent use.

Reid made approving noises, and O'Brien anticipated his next question. "We'd be happy for you to come along on that visit, if you want to. We plan to go over there at two this afternoon."

"Give me his address, and I'll be there," replied Reid with determination. He scribbled it down, thanked O'Brien, and hung up the phone. Ferguson, who had been standing nearby, hanging on every word of the conversation that he could hear, did everything but shout, "WELL?" at Reid, who merely said, "We're off to Derby. Get a couple of sandwiches from the canteen." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Sommerville's got a firearms licence and we're invited to join the local constabulary while they check out his weapons."

Ferguson vanished in the direction of the canteen at a rate of knots, while Reid grinned at his excitement. The thought of the reason behind the drive to Derby sobered him, however; it reminded him that one person had died and another had nearly followed her. He also wondered if Sommerville had had the front to show up at the hospital yet. An idea came to him, and he lifted his phone once more.

"Deep? Can I ask you a favour? I need to keep an eye out for our suspect turning up at Billy Duke's bedside. Could you post a bod or two in the vicinity? Plain clothes, naturally."

"No problem," Shah replied. "I'll send a couple down there now, and get them to make discreet enquiries while they're at it, find out if he's already visited."

"Fantastic, thanks a million." Reid rang off, feeling like he'd been running in the hundred metres. The adrenalin had started pumping round his body as the investigation abruptly escalated from mere phone calls and conversations to possible confrontation – armed, at that.

oooOOOooo

Reid and Ferguson arrived at the Sommerville residence just short of 2 o'clock, and found Inspector O'Brien and Sergeant Williamson ready and waiting. Reid also silently noted the patrol car with two PCs in it sitting further down the street; they obviously didn't believe in taking chances in Derby.

The introductions made, O'Brien led the way to the front door and rang the bell. After a few moments, Barbara Sommerville answered the door, her expression of welcoming enquiry dissolving into surprise when she saw two uniformed police officers standing there.

The inspector spoke pleasantly but without being patronising. "Mrs. Sommerville? My name is Inspector Donna O'Brien, from Derby Central police station, and this is Sergeant Alex Williamson. We're doing routine checks of firearms certificate holders and would like to talk to your husband and inspect his weapon security and documentation."

"Ohhh..." The woman appeared quite baffled, although the fact that he husband kept a gun obviously wasn't news to her. She called over her shoulder into the depths of the house, "Michael!", and her tone of voice brought her husband almost running to the door.

"What is it?" he demanded, then noticed the gaggle of police personnel on his doorstep. He singled Reid out immediately. "Is it something to do with Billy?"

Reid kept silent, and O'Brien replied, "No, Mr. Sommerville, this is a call to check your firearms licence. You've had a certificate for quite a few years now, so I'm sure you're used to these inspections by now."

"Oh, of course." Reid could almost see the relief on Sommerville's face, and just as quickly, the realisation that although this visit didn't appear directly related to his son-in-law, it could soon turn out to be rather incriminating. But by then it was too late, the four visitors were in the house and he had no option but to show them to the spare downstairs room where he kept his gun cabinet. If he wondered why Reid and Ferguson were there, he stayed quiet about it.

Sergeant Williamson opened a clipboard folder and said in a business-like manner, "According to our records you have one shotgun and one handgun. Is that correct, sir?"

"That's right, yes," answered Sommerville, unlocking the steel door to the cabinet. He stood back, and Reid noticed that he did not, as one might, look into the cupboard at its contents, but deliberately averted his gaze. The reason was immediately apparent.

Inspector O'Brien stated the obvious. "There seems to only be one weapon here, Mr. Sommerville." She waited for his reaction, which was totally unconvincing.

"What?" Sommerville now stared at the solitary shotgun in its rack. "I don't understand – they're always in here, I rarely use them. Isn't that so, Barbara?"

"Why, yes, of course it is," his wife responded. "I've never really understood why you have them at all, you hardly ever take them out except to clean them." An idea suddenly came to her. "Maybe you forgot to put the little one back after you cleaned it last?"

Sommerville nodded in agreement. "Yes, yes, that might well be it." _Clutching at straws,_ thought Reid. _And how low to let his unwitting wife think up the excuses!_

"In that case," replied O'Brien briskly, "I must ask you to allow myself and Sergeant Williamson to search your premises for this gun – unless, of course, you can produce it at once."

To Michael Sommerville's horror, and Reid's amusement, Barbara Sommerville piped up, "Well, of course, please do!" She seemed to think they were carrying out some kind of complimentary weapon-locating service. Her husband gave her a thunderous look that said he could cheerfully have killed her, but he didn't speak. His only response was to grit his teeth as O'Brien and Williamson busied themselves checking drawers, cupboards, and under beds. Reid and Ferguson joined in to avoid looking out of place.

Twenty minutes went by without any trace being found of Sommerville's handgun. Inspector O'Brien came downstairs from her search of the spare bedroom and quizzed the couple about any other possible locations, such as a garage, that might hold the missing weapon. The others continued looking through the remainder of the house, Reid in the living room, Ferguson the kitchen and hall, and Williamson the main bedroom.

"Ma'am!" came a call from Ferguson. Reid and O'Brien entered the hall to find the sergeant's head poking out from a cupboard beneath the stairs. He emerged, bringing with him a blue and black Trespass jacket.

"What have you found, sergeant?" asked O'Brien.

They stared, transfixed, at the garment in Ferguson's hand as he lifted the front left section of it to reveal a small, round, black hole in the synthetic fabric, over the pocket.

Reid spoke for the first time that visit. "Bag it," he ordered, then turning to O'Brien, said, "With your co-operation, Inspector, I'd like to apply for a warrant to search these premises for any evidence pertaining to the murder of Sergeant Lindsay Allan in Denton, last month."

"Certainly," answered O'Brien, and immediately got on the phone. Williamson had discreetly been listening from upstairs, but now came down, went outside to his car, and returned bearing a brown paper evidence bag, which he held open while Ferguson deposited the jacket in it.

Throughout these exchanges the Sommervilles had watched in silence. Barbara appeared increasingly confused by the events unfolding in her home, but seemed nonetheless to realise that what was happening was not good.

"Michael!" she said in an urgent, quiet voice, and pulled him aside into the kitchen, where, although they were out of sight, they were not out of earshot. "What's going on? Why on earth are they taking your jacket?" At this, the officers in the hall looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and Ferguson promptly took out his notebook to record this evidence of ownership.

"I've no idea," replied Sommerville. "Perhaps you should call Val and find out how Billy is."

"Well..." His wife's voice tailed off uncertainly for a moment at this apparent _non sequitur_, then she continued, "...all right then." She came out of the kitchen and went into the lounge, where she lifted the phone.

As she did so, Reid looked round the kitchen door and saw to his horror that the room was empty. "Ferguson! He's gone outside!" he shouted, and with a lunge at the back door he was out into the garden.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 16**

The gate set in the back fence was closed. Reid scanned the large garden, much of which was covered in shrubs, as Ferguson came at full tilt round the side of the house, grabbing a drainpipe to stop himself from falling over.

"No sign of him out front, guv," he gasped.

His mouth set in a firm, determined line, Reid turned to Sergeant Williamson, who had appeared at the kitchen door, and ordered through clenched teeth, "Get those two uniforms from down the street to give us a hand. And if he's got away we need all units to be on the look-out for him."

The sergeant relayed Reid's instructions via radio as Inspector O'Brien emerged into the garden. Reid and Ferguson had by now left by the rear gate and were searching for any sign of the fleeing Sommerville.

"He can't have got that bloody far!" exclaimed Reid in anger and disbelief. "You go that way, Adam, I'll take this lane. Keep in touch on your mobile." So saying, he set off at a jog to check the gardens of the back-to-back terraced houses. Ferguson, momentarily in shock at this unaccustomed use of his first name, began running in the opposite direction.

They were abysmally unsuccessful. Dejected, exhausted, and frustrated, they returned to the Sommerville home after almost an hour and found Valerie and her sister, with their respective offspring in tow, attempting to comfort their distressed mother.

"I don't understand," Barbara was sobbing into a handful of Kleenex, "why has your father run off like this?"

Soothingly, Val said, "It's not your fault, mum," but this only served to plant the idea in her mother's mind that there might be some blame to be apportioned to her, and she cried even harder at the suggestion.

"What Val means, mum," explained Ginny, "is that it's nothing to do with what any of us might have done. It's to do with dad's guns." Inspector O'Brien had obviously been filling the girls in on the reason for the police visit.

Val tried again. "He'll be back soon, just you wait and see. When he's hungry, he'll come home."

Her mother looked up hopefully. "I'll cook his favourite. Bangers and mash. That's what I'll do." With renewed energy, she got up and went into the kitchen, where she could be heard opening the freezer and rummaging around for some sausages.

"Heaven help us," Ginny muttered.

"Oh, at least she's doing something to keep her mind off it," remonstrated her sister. "Let her alone." Suddenly noticing Terry, Valerie frowned. "Mr. Reid! What are you doing here?"

O'Brien saved him the bother of having to make up some specious excuse. "I invited Inspector Reid to accompany us on the weapons inspection, as he was in the area," she answered truthfully. "He was good enough to help us look for your father."

The gratitude in Val Duke's voice was unmistakable. "Thanks again, Mr. Reid. You're forever helping us out of tight spots! I'll tell Billy all about it tomorrow."

The most horrific thought suddenly struck Reid with the force of an enormous wrecking ball. If Michael Sommerville was desperate enough to want both his son-in-law and Lindsay Allan dead, and he knew the police had rumbled him, there was little left for him to lose. What was to stop him returning to Denton to try and finish the job?

As casually as he could manage, given that his heart seemed to be attempting an emergency exit through his chest, Reid said quietly to Ferguson and O'Brien, "I need a word." They adjourned to the front garden, passing a newly-assigned family liaison officer on her way in, and Reid explained his fears to them. The possibilities were immediately apparent.

"I'll call Inspector Shah and ask him to alert his people at the hospital," said Ferguson.

"Get him to send as many bodies as he can for backup," Reid instructed. "Make sure he's fully aware of the situation. Then call CID and get them to stake out Duke's hospital room. Nobody gets in there without being thoroughly vetted. Inspector," he said, turning to O'Brien, "is there any chance that Sommerville owns a lock-up or storage space close by? I'm thinking that if I had somewhere like that where I could hide a vehicle away without my family knowing, that'd be my first port of call in an emergency."

"And it might be a pretty good place to stash a gun," added O'Brien. "I'll get my men onto it. Sergeant!" Williamson left a small huddle of uniformed officers on the pavement and came into the garden. "Have someone check with the council if Sommerville rents a lock-up from them, and get somebody else onto local storage companies too, just in case."

"Meanwhile," announced Reid grimly, "we need to go back to Denton General and make sure our man doesn't get to Duke. Thanks for all your assistance, Inspector." He shook hands with O'Brien, and followed Ferguson to their car.

The journey back to Denton took longer than Reid could recall it ever having taken before. The miles seemed to crawl by, whilst time appeared to have sprouted wings and be fast-forwarding to the inevitable end.

"Won't this thing go any faster?" Reid complained, casting a disparaging eye over the dials on Ferguson's dashboard. They had taken his car rather than his guv'nor's, since Reid hadn't fancied the drive to Derby.

In response, Ferguson moved the gear down a couple of notches and stepped on the accelerator, manoeuvring out into the overtaking lane of the main Derby to Denton expressway. Reid was catapulted back into his seat but forced to mutter, "That's more like it," as he caught sight of the speedometer approaching 80 m.p.h.

His phone rang. "Reid. Yes, inspector. I see...any vehicles registered to him that weren't kept at his home address?" He pulled out a pen and scribbled on the palm of his hand. "That's great. Thanks very much. Bye." He hung up and fished around in Ferguson's glove box for a piece of paper to transfer his notes onto before they disappeared in an inky, sweaty puddle. Having done this, he explained to the sergeant, "The local council have a record of Sommerville renting a lock-up from them for the past year, about a quarter of a mile from his house. Swansea also has Sommerville down as owning a midnight blue Ford Fiesta – I've got the registration number here – and when Inspector O'Brien asked his family, they seemed to be totally in the dark, not to mention a bit freaked out about it."

"That ties in with the description of the car caught on camera outside the nick, the night Sergeant Allan was shot," Ferguson pointed out.

Reid nodded in agreement. "What with the bullet hole in the jacket, and now this, it really does look like the killer was Sommerville himself. So we'll assume that when he legged it from the house today, he made for the secret lock-up, and that he's more than likely to be armed. We don't know for certain that he's decided to try and get to Duke, but we can't afford not to be prepared."

Ferguson gave a cynical snort. "Sommerville certainly seems to have been preparing for some time, if he's had the lock-up to squirrel the car away in for a year."

"Yes, you have to wonder how long he's been planning this," ruminated Reid. "Possibly since Billy took up with Lindsay Allan – or maybe before that, if he had a real dislike for him."

Both men jumped as Reid's phone rang out, disturbing their respective trains of thought. It was Gardiner.

"Terry, just wanted to keep you up to speed on ops this end. We've got Denton General surrounded by plain clothes officers and unmarked cars, and DS Panjabi and DC Leece are in white coats and stethoscopes on the intensive care ward, with backup from my lot posing as visitors throughout the hospital. It's getting towards visiting time, so everyone's revved up and ready to go in case Sommerville shows. How far away are you?"

Reid wasn't sure, and asked Ferguson. "About fifteen minutes, guv," came the reply.

"Ten minutes, sir," Reid told Gardiner, and Ferguson rolled his eyes and put his foot down again.

oooOOOooo

On their arrival at the entrance to the grounds of Denton General, they were met by DS Wainwright, who had been on the lookout for them.

"Any sign of him yet?" Reid asked, more in hope than in expectation.

Wainwright shook his head. "Not a thing. And we've got this place locked down tighter than a Yorkshireman's wallet." There were never any prizes for guessing which side of the country the sergeant hailed from.

Reid snorted in mild amusement. "Right," he instructed Ferguson, "get parked up as near the ICU entrance as you can." Wainwright waved them through, then withdrew into the shadows of some nearby trees.

"What d'you think, guv, will Sommerville spot the cordon and bottle it, or will he try and slip through somehow?" Ferguson asked as they walked the 500 yards from the car to the admitting area.

Reid pulled a face that indicated he thought it might go either way, but the pessimist in him won. "When you're as desperate and determined as he seems to be, you find a way to get what you want. I think we have to face up to the likelihood that he's going to at least get past the cordon, if not into the hospital building itself."

They reached intensive care and saw two pairs of plain clothes constables posing as relatives, sitting in the waiting area and corridor. DS Panjabi, her hair up in a chignon and a pair of large spectacles balanced on her nose, was a very convincing consultant as she perused some patient records at a nearby desk. She looked up, saw Reid and Ferguson, then looked back at her notes without giving the slightest sign of recognition. The pair continued along the hallway to Billy Duke's room, and Reid looked in to check all was well. The patient lay asleep, apparently unaware of the drama surrounding him. As Reid left, softly closing the door, he realised his phone was vibrating insistently in his jacket pocket. Ducking into an alcove so as not to be overheard, he answered it. "Yes?"

"Tel, it's Deep. Michael Sommerville's Fiesta's been found on the edge of town, a good four miles from the hospital. I think we can safely assume he's either there or on his way."

"And possibly in another car," replied Reid. "Thanks for the heads up, Deep."

"No problem. I'll alert the troops and have them check all vehicles parked near the hospital."

The call ended, and Reid blew out his cheeks at this latest development, which he shared with Ferguson.

"He could've picked up another car any number of ways," the sergeant suggested. "The bottom line is, he might even be here right now. Want me to take a look around?"

Reid mulled this over for a moment, then said, "OK, but if you do see him, don't overreact; in fact, don't react at all. Just find a quiet room, and call me and Inspector Shah, all right?"

"Right, guv." Ferguson made off towards the main corridor that ran past the ICU. Reid started to stroll further down the ward, checking each room as he went. There was a flurry of activity around one of the beds he passed, as a team of nurses and doctors strove to resuscitate a patient. Reid automatically turned away and retraced his steps, and saw Panjabi coming quickly up the corridor. She caught his eye, silently signalling that she needed to speak to him. Although she was endeavouring to remain calm, there was something fearful about her manner which set him on the alert at once.

"Yes, doctor?" Reid played along with his sergeant's disguise.

"Stuff that, guv, he's here."

"_What?_" asked Reid, strangely unable to take in what he was hearing.

Panjabi swallowed and explained, "I walked past a trolley down the hall – it had suddenly appeared inside the door to the ward – and it looked like there was a body on it, you know, under a sheet, and then this hand shot out and grabbed me, and a voice said, 'You get me into Billy Duke's room, and nobody else gets hurt,' and then I saw a gun poking out from under the sheet as well. He can't see you up here, though, I don't think, so stay out of sight. I'm supposed to be checking that the coast is clear."

"Bugger. Right, when you go back, tell him that a nurse is with Duke, but she's only doing routine checks and will be gone in a few minutes."

"Got it, guv." Panjabi entered Duke's room and Reid quickly rang Ferguson, telling him to call Shah. Not for the first time, Reid regretted the tight gun restrictions police officers had to work under. In situations like this it was impractical to have to wait until armed response teams arrived.

Panjabi reappeared, and Reid spoke urgently to her. "When you've given Sommerville the message, keep going. I doubt he'll want to waste any time by trying to keep tabs on you when he's here for Earl. Get out into the main corridor and brief the first senior officer you meet. I've called DS Ferguson so things should be moving now." Having delivered these instructions, Reid slipped into Duke's room and shut the door. In the dimly-lit room, he could just make out his former DC's face, cut and bruised from his encounter with the thugs that his father-in-law had most probably set on him.

Reid turned at the sound of the door opening, and saw a shocked Sommerville. The gun in his hand was not the air pistol covered by the second licence, but a Webley revolver.

"Nice piece," remarked Reid, as if they were simply having an amicable chat. "An heirloom from someone who served in the war?"

Caught unawares and thrown by Reid's casual manner, the gun fanatic in Sommerville fell for it and he looked fondly at the weapon, turning it this way and that to catch the light. "Yep, my dad. He was in Italy, Monte Cassino, so it saw a fair bit of action. He was very proud of that. Still got his medals at home. I keep meaning to have them framed." The reality of the situation seemed suddenly to dawn on him, and he cleared his throat before saying, "Stand aside, inspector. I've no quarrel with you."

"What, you plan to shoot a man who can't stand up, never mind defend himself? While he's asleep? Hardly a fair fight," was Reid's answer.

Sommerville's face was set like flint. "There's nothing fair about this, believe me. This...this _moron_ came into my daughter's life and ruined it. Ruined it. She was so happy before he came along, was going to get married to a great lad, worked at the bank beside her. Then _he_ shows up, all Flash Harry and 'I'm a policeman,' and she falls for it, dumps Theo, and within three months they're married with a kid on the way. Turns out he's a wasting bloody junkie who spends their holiday money on his disgusting habit. And into the bargain he drags her off to Denton and we hardly ever see her."

Reid could hear a very, very large penny dropping. Here was the motive they had struggled to find, even when they realised Sommerville could be the killer. The age-old jealousy of a father for his daughter's lover, the rival for his little girl's affection, the unsuitable choice she had made.

"I don't think you killing Billy is going to make her want to come home again," said Reid, gently. "Having him beaten half to death just made her realise what she was missing, so if you finish him off, how do you think she'll feel?"

"She'll get over it," Sommerville replied, resolute. "He was hardly ever a proper husband or father, the kids never saw him; if he wasn't off his face he was on shifts and special operations." With a wry sense of recognition Reid knew that this could have been his own ex's dad talking; even without the shared experience of substance abuse, being a copper and having a young family was never the easy option for anyone. A dark cloud seemed to settle on the other man. "And then that tart stuck her oar in."

Reid realised with a lurch that he was referring to Lindsay Allan. "How did you find out?" He was genuinely intrigued to know.

Sommerville's eyes narrowed and he answered, "My wife's niece. She works at the police station in Denton, knows everything that's going on. He," waving his hand in the direction of Duke's bed, "didn't know her, and Val didn't realise Sharlene had transferred from Derby."

Stunned and disbelieving, Reid could only ask, "Sharlene Carrick? The clerical officer?"

"Yes, she rang me when she realised what was going on with Billy and that sergeant. She was very upset, you know. I mean, it was her cousin who was getting hurt by him playing around like that."

"But...Val didn't know about Billy's affair until after Sergeant Allan was dead. That's why she left him," said Reid.

Sommerville smiled indulgently and shook his head. "Nooo," he replied, as if speaking to a naïve child. "She knew. She must have." He paused and frowned, and Reid realised that the man was attempting to rearrange the sequence of events in his own mind to suit his belief that Duke didn't deserve to live. He now knew for certain, too, that the balance of Sommerville's mind was on a knife-edge, and that he was not dealing with a rational man.

Reid stepped forward and held out his hand for the gun.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 17**

Adam Ferguson returned to the ICU just in time to see Michael Sommerville disappearing into Duke's room. He spoke urgently to the armed officers waiting behind the swing doors.

"The suspect's entered the patient's room, and from what DS Panjabi's told me, Inspector Reid's probably in there too."

"Is there another entrance, maybe from the adjoining room?" asked the sergeant in charge of the armed response unit.

Ferguson paused, reluctant to admit that he had no idea. In that split second, the sound of a shot reverberated around the ward, and Ferguson set off up the corridor as if it had been a starting pistol and he a sprinter. The ARU were at his back as he barged into Duke's room, without a thought for his own safety, to find a scene from a George Romero movie unfolding before his eyes. The room looked like an abattoir – blood had splashed up the walls and was pooling on the floor. Reid lay at the foot of Duke's bed, blood soaking his jacket and the front of his shirt, masking his face and matting in his hair. The still-swinging door in the opposite wall pointed to the exit route taken by Sommerville in his flight. Grabbing his radio as he skidded to his knees at his DI's side, Ferguson waved the ARU forward. "I've got this," he shouted. "Get after him – don't let him out of the building!" Then into the radio: "All units, be aware that the suspect is armed and dangerous; ARU are in pursuit." He hesitated for a split second. They needed urgent medical assistance, but he had no idea where Sommerville was. If he called for a doctor over an open frequency he might inadvertently send unarmed civilians into the path of a nutter with a gun who'd already shot a copper. Making his decision he adjusted his radio. "DS Panjabi?"

A momentary pause and then Panjabi's voice snapped: "What do you want?"

"I need you in here, now!" He heard Panjabi's indignant protests begin even as he cut off contact and turned his attention to Reid, who had stirred at the sound of Ferguson's voice and was now blinking blood out of his eyes and struggling to push himself up onto one elbow.

"Don't move, guv!" Ferguson implored, grabbing his boss's shoulder with one hand and turning back the soaked and sticky jacket with the other. "D'you know where it hit you?" The exit wound must be on Reid's back, he thought frantically, and he didn't want to turn him over; if he could find where the bullet had entered he'd have some idea what he was dealing with.

"Gerroff!" Reid batted at his DS's arm, still endeavouring to rise.

"Guv, I need to…"

"He didn't shoot me, you prat – he shot Earl!" Throwing off Ferguson's solicitous grasp, Reid lurched upright; only then did the sergeant realise that the blood on Reid's face was running down from a gash under the fringe above his left eye, and most of what was on his clothes wasn't his at all. "He shoved me over and I must've cracked my forehead on the bed as I went down." As Ferguson gaped at him, Reid flung back the covers on Duke's bed and scrabbled for the pulse at the injured man's throat. "He's still breathing! Get a…"

His words were cut off by the crash of the door heralding the arrival of Panjabi, who was in mid-lecture: "…don't know who you think you are, Ferguson, ordering me about like a probationer – Judas H Priest!" She fell silent for all of three seconds at the sight of Reid looking like an extra from Dawn of the Dead, Ferguson impersonating a slaughterhouse operative and Billy Duke's life-blood draining onto the floor at their feet. "Guv, are you…"

"I'm fine!" Reid barked. "Get some real doctors in here, now!" Panjabi was as efficient as she was officious, and within thirty seconds a medical team had swept into the little room to tend to the patient.

Reid turned to Ferguson to ask him about Sommerville at the precise moment that their three radios simultaneously crackled into life. Ferguson responded whilst Reid stripped off his ruined jacket and rinsed the worst of the gore from his hands.

"They've got him, guv," Ferguson reported. "Pinned him down in the reception area. He hasn't hurt anyone else."

"Alive?"

Ferguson nodded.

"Good." Reid grabbed a wad of paper towels and rubbed at the blood on his face and hair, wincing as he made contact with the area round his eye, which was beginning to puff up. Binning the stained handful, he jerked his head at Ferguson and Panjabi. "Come on."

"Guv, if you've got a head trauma, shouldn't you be…" Ferguson broke off at the glint in his superior's eye.

"This," – Reid jabbed an impatient finger in the direction of his rapidly swelling left eye – "isn't a head trauma, Ferguson. I should know. And right now I've got a bit of unfinished business with Mr Sommerville. Come, or stay here. Your choice." Reid swept out of the door, Panjabi hard on his heels, and Ferguson stared for a moment in disbelief before hurrying in their wake.

oooOOOooo

"Good God, Terry!" Deep Shah expostulated as Reid and his colleagues arrived in the deserted reception area.

"Yeah, I know!" After attracting horrified glances from everyone they'd passed on their journey Reid had a good idea of the image he and Ferguson presented. "Where is he?"

Shah nodded across to where the large, high-ceilinged room bent to the right in an "L"-shape. "They're holding him over there. Transport's arrived for him, but I thought you'd want to speak to him first."

They crossed the space in an arrowhead formation, Reid leading the way with the two sergeants flanking him to left and right. Sommerville, dangling between two burly officers from the ARU, still managed to appear self-assured. "Inspector Reid," he greeted as they rounded the corner. "I'm glad you seem to be intact."

Reid moved in close, Panjabi and Ferguson still hovering with a menacing air at his shoulders. "Just two things, before they take you away," he said, quietly. "One – I don't know you whether you're doing time for murder or attempted murder…" he had the satisfaction of seeing Sommerville's expression change as he registered that Billy Duke might still be alive "…but whichever one it is, you ain't coming out. You'll die in prison, mate, you mark my words. And, just so you know," he added, his tone conversational but his eyes as bright and deadly as a pouncing cat's, "whichever one it is, you've made a martyr out of Billy Duke. He's been a stupid, selfish toerag, but he didn't deserve what you gave him, any more than Lindsay Allan did. Val realised she still loved Billy when your goons put him in hospital. What d'you reckon she'll think of you when she finds out what you've done here today?"

As the impact of Reid's words sank in, Sommerville collapsed like a punctured balloon, sagging at the knees. Reid's stare was glacial. "Take him out!" he rapped, and the two ARU men complied, Sommerville's feet trailing limply across the floor as they moved away.

Reid turned, grimly satisfied, to find himself face-to-face with Gardiner. The Super, like everyone else had done in the last ten minutes, stared at him with a mixture of shock and fascination.

"What the hell is this?" Gardiner demanded.

Ferguson stepped forward. "Sir, DI Reid received a head injury trying to protect DC Duke – er, former DC Duke – from being attacked…"

"Reid?" The Superintendent managed to layer the single syllable with roughly ten meanings.

"It's not serious, sir. We needed to get urgent medical attention to Duke, and Sommerville was my collar…" Reid's voice trailed away as he registered the warning expression on his superior's face.

"Good work, the three of you. Now, Reid - go home, and stay there till you're declared fit to return to duty," Gardiner said, quietly. "Ferguson, go with him, and make sure he sees a doctor before he leaves the premises. Panjabi, get down to the station and start the report on Sommerville. DI Reid can approve it all when he gets back to work. Wainwright!" Gardiner was walking away from them now, "I need an update on Duke's condition. Sergeant Warner…"

As the remaining occupants of the reception area followed Gardiner around the bend of the "L" and out of sight, Panjabi sighed. "Better go get started," she said. "This one'll keep me going for a few hours."

By a lucky chance, the doctor who had treated Reid after his unfortunate encounter with the baseball bat was on duty in A and E. He gave his reluctant patient a thorough examination, under Ferguson's watchful eye, before inserting several stitches into the wound and allowing Reid home on condition that he contacted his GP immediately and took some time off work.

Reid and Ferguson headed for Ferguson's car. The DS let Reid set the pace, making no comment on the fact that it was quite slow despite Reid's occasional grumbles to the effect that there was nothing the matter with him and he hadn't needed to see a doctor. As they walked past the newsagent's kiosk outside the main doors Reid ducked inside for a few moments and re-emerged dropping change into his pocket.

Back at the car, Ferguson held open the door, again refraining from comment as Reid lowered himself rather gingerly into the passenger seat. By the time Ferguson was settled behind the wheel, Reid had a packet of Rothmans open and was rummaging for his lighter. He caught Ferguson's eye. "Shut up," he grunted.

oooOOOooo

The GP had been and gone, advising a couple of days off to be on the safe side and leaving him a new prescription for painkillers and a stern warning to contact the surgery immediately should any symptoms of concussion manifest themselves. Ferguson had left, promising to keep Reid fully informed of any developments as they arose.

Reid looked at the packet of cigarettes on the table beside him, and then glanced at his watch, reached for the phone and dialled his ex-wife's number. "Louise?" he said as she answered. "Yeah, fine. Just to let you know we've put this one to bed, so I should be free to come down at the weekend if nothing's going on. No, I'll stay at Sheila's; Tom's got a lodger now. Yeah, lunch on Saturday should be OK." Charlie wandered into the room and jumped up onto Reid's knee, pounding enthusiastically with both front paws. Reid winced and moved him over a little so that the cat's claws dug into the cushion instead. "Is Katie there? If she's got a minute…" He heard Louise call out for his daughter and smiled as he heard Katie charging downstairs to the phone. As the excited spate of chatter began at the London end of the line, Reid felt himself beginning to relax. He picked up the packet of fags and tossed them into the waste-paper basket at the other side of the room.


	19. Chapter 19

**After**

"Cup of tea, guv?" Tina Panjabi asked, kettle in hand, as Reid crossed the floor of CID on the way to his office.

"If you're offering," Reid said without breaking stride. "Fetch it in, would you?"

Dropping teabags into mugs and adding milk and sugar as appropriate, Panjabi wondered what was on her boss's mind. He'd returned to work that morning after a long weekend at home and the team had hardly seen him; he'd spent most of the time closeted away with Gardiner or shut up in his office, which was an unusual pattern of behaviour. He wasn't exactly a party animal, but when there wasn't a flap on he did generally make a point of emerging a couple of times a day to make his presence felt amongst the troops, keep up-to-date with the latest happenings and consume a couple of chocolate digestives. Tina picked up the tail-end of the packet of biscuits, screwed the top shut and tucked them into her jacket pocket before she collected the mugs and headed for Reid's door.

"Stole the last of the McVitie's," she said as she expertly worked the handle with her elbow and backed in through the opening. "Thought you might need refuelling... holy crap, guv! That could win prizes!"

Reid looked at her levelly through his undamaged right eye. The left was still almost totally obscured by the huge haematoma which began under his fringe where the stitches were and faded from black and purple to an interesting shade of light blue just around his jawline. "Apparently this is a minor head trauma," he said, "presumably because it's my face that's bruised as opposed to my brain. Bloody hurts when you roll over onto it at night, though."

Panjabi winced in sympathy as she handed him the biscuits. "Sommerville must have given you a proper shove."

"Caught me off-balance." Reid dunked his biscuit into his tea until it was on the point of total disintegration, then transferred the whole thing into his mouth in one neat movement. "I saw him aim the gun at Earl, went to knock him off target, he straight-armed me on the shoulder and as I went down I smashed my face on the corner of the bed-frame. Must have got a pointy bit."

"Well, if they gave out awards for Most Dramatic Facial Injury you'd be a shoo-in." Tina sipped from her mug. "Did Gardiner tell you about Earl?"

"Mm-hm" nodded Reid, caught with the second biscuit in his mouth. He took a swig of tea and rinsed the last fragments down his throat reflectively. "Not sure if it's good news or not, really."

"You saved his life," Panjabi said. "If you hadn't deflected the shot it would've pretty much blown him apart, one of the docs told me."

"Not going to be much of a life, though, is it? For him or for Val."

"Val would rather have him alive and in a wheelchair than dead, guv. At least this way they get a chance to set things right."

"As right as they can be with her Dad banged up for shooting Earl and Lindsay and her Mum heading for a home for the bewildered..."

Tina shook her head. "It's a bloody good job Val and Billy are being more positive about it than you are."

She got a snort in reply and then Reid changed the subject. "The DCI was asking about the investigation into identifying whoever clattered me in that car-park; have you got the details?"

"It's all at a bit of a standstill to be honest, guv." Panjabi reached into her jacket pocket and produced the little notebook in which she kept shorthand jottings of her case-notes; she'd been a PA before retraining into the police force. "I followed up on Billy Duke at first, but he was adamant he hadn't touched you and I believe him."

Reid nodded, finishing the last of his tea. "I asked him outright not long after it happened and he was very offended at the mere suggestion. I believe him too."

Tina briefly consulted the book. "Then I tried to get hold of Vince Wilkins to speak to him, but he's vanished into the ether and we've no witnesses. The call we got alerting us when it happened was an anonymous one, so no joy there."

"I know it wasn't Wilkins," Reid said positively. "Partly for the same reason that I know it wasn't Earl. I was speaking to Earl and Wilkins in the pub that night and neither of them had anything even remotely resembling a baseball bat anywhere near them. They hadn't time to go and pick one up, even from the toilets, and catch up with me in time to do any damage. I'd only got halfway across the car-park when it happened, so there's no way... what?" He broke off as he registered the look on Tina Panjabi's face.

"You sure?" she asked him.

"About what?"

"Being halfway across the car-park."

"Positive. I know I was, because I was gagging for a fag and I remember looking up at the moon and doing deep breaths to try and convince myself I was enjoying the nice clean air. I was right out in the middle between the two ranks of parking-spaces."

There was a little silence. Tina felt slightly sick. "That's not where we found you," she said. Reid stared at her and she could practically hear the cogs turning in his brain. "You weren't out in the open," she went on. "You were down between your car and the wall; as if they'd got you when you were opening the car door. The paramedics had to brace your neck and stretcher you up to lift you out of there." Pausing, she swallowed a little and then ploughed on. "If we hadn't had the phone-call from someone who said they'd seen it happen you'd have been there all night, maybe into the next morning."

"So let's get this one hundred percent straight," Reid said. "They took me out in the middle of the car-park, then stashed me behind my car?"

Tina's neck felt so stiff she could barely nod. "I've been thinking of this as a warning, or some hired thug getting over-enthusiastic – or even a real mugging, a coincidence. But it wasn't, was it? It was a calculated attack, then they put you down there on purpose. They tried to kill you, guv."

"But they tried to make it look like a bungled assault... why would they do that?" Reid looked as unsettled as Tina felt, but she'd seen him work under pressure before and she knew that it often pushed him to a level that routine never quite inspired him to reach. He gazed into space for several seconds and then seemed to reach a conclusion and sat up straighter in his chair. "Right, thanks, Tina," he said, briskly. "I'll take it from here, if you can send me a copy of the paperwork you've got so far."

Knowing she was being given the brush-off, Tina gave him a challenging look and received a warning glance from Reid's good eye. She took the hint and didn't push it. "Okay, I'll pass it on later today. Just tidy it up a bit first." Collecting the cups she headed for the door, thoroughly exasperated. No doubt Reid had his reasons for closing her out of the investigation and no doubt they were good ones; that didn't stop her feeling somewhat unappreciated. _Bet anything you like he gets Ferguson in on it, _she thought sourly.

oooOOOooo

Reid watched Tina sweep out and felt sorry for her; she was a good officer and a tough cookie and he regretted having to leave her in the dark. But several significant points had just clanged into place in his brain and he was less than happy with the results. Contrary to Tina's expectations, Reid wasn't about to call Ferguson into the office; he wasn't even sure if he would approach Gardiner yet.

Why make it look like a bungled assault? To hide the fact that it was an attempted murder. Who'd rung it in? Not a member of the public – he'd been well-hidden behind that car, and he knew no-one had seen the attack; his assailants weren't stupid. Ergo – the caller was someone who knew what was going on and for whatever reason had decided killing a copper was a bad idea. On his return home he'd had a text from Vince Wilkins – the last communication anyone had had with that individual, so far as Reid was aware – giving him a name. At the time he'd thought it simply to be the name he'd asked Wilkins for – the name of the man who controlled the drug supply in Denton. Now, he was wondering whether there had been more than one reason for sending that name.

And then there was the fact that exactly at the point when all this was going on Gardiner sent Reid a memo making it quite clear that Ferguson was assigned as one of his officers for the duration. Which basically meant that Gardiner, or SOCA – or both – thought Billy Duke might not be the only rotten apple in the barrel.

Reid pulled a blank sheet of paper in front of him and began to write a fresh list. He'd been so confident on the day of the press conference that it was just a matter of time and they'd have it all wrapped up. Now it seemed that they'd been trying to do a jigsaw with only half the picture to look at. He had some of the rest of it now, and he didn't like what he could see. He had the feeling he hadn't heard the last of Eric Hayden.


End file.
